


halfway between your house and mine

by spikenard



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: 2011 cellphone culture, First Times, Fluff, M/M, Trans Character, people who love each other working on their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikenard/pseuds/spikenard
Summary: Ronan liked tenderness with Adam better when they were both doing a shitty job at it.





	halfway between your house and mine

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably the fluffiest, least emotionally difficult thing i’ll ever write.  
> you can find my writing playlist for this fic [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlVgdfbVVFc&list=PLQaMu55Gu0qpGYzerdB6v7r564ZQjMqiD) if you’d like something to listen to as you read. i guess it’s not very long just put it on repeat or something.  
> the only thing i really feel like i should warn in a heads-up ahead of time is that the trans character tag refers 2 ronan; keep his particular sensitivity level and vocabulary in mind when it comes to how he handles trans issues as they come up. also this is set ~december 2012, when trk ends; that’s why ronan has a slide-out keyboard on his phone get off my dick!!! if you feel like you need more information abt content you can feel free to contact me.

The window in Ronan’s childhood bedroom cast a sunlight glow over Ronan’s rumpled sheets, no matter what the weather was like outside. It was cloudy out, today, glum and grey, but the window showed the kind of magical summer light that put Ronan on edge, nowadays, with thinking about how easy it used to be for him to be happy. It was bizarre to be with Adam here. 

But then, it was bizarre to be with Adam at all.

It was almost comprehensible to press his knee hard against Adam’s on the couch at Monmouth, to while away a lazy afternoon watching the freckled shell of Adam’s ear in Milo’s English class at Aglionby, to burst into Adam’s narrow room at St. Agnes in a flurry of activity and fling himself dramatically onto the bed.

What Ronan could hardly understand — what he was finally coming to accept, with faltering joy that filled him up, with half-incomprehensible grace — was that Parrish wanted him back. 

That he would press his knee back against Ronan’s, or throw an arm over the back of the couch so he could rub his fingers into the side of Ronan’s neck; that Adam would glance back at him in English class and let his gaze catch before mouthing _pay attention_ and returning to his notes; that Adam’s only response to Ronan in his bed was a lingering, smiling look that Ronan could feel in the tips of his ears, in his fingernails, in the prickling at the back of his neck, and then a honey-sweet, "Take your fucking shoes off, Lynch."

That was something Ronan could nearly believe: these studied casual gestures, nearly the same as the boy-friendship Ronan got from Gansey, but somehow more, because Adam wasn’t even half as unthinking about it as Gansey was with his old-boy comfortability. It made Adam’s small affections sweeter: the careful way he would tuck his fingertips under Ronan’s wristbands to feel his pulse jump. How he would nudge his ankle around Ronan’s in the backseat of the Pig, while Gansey lectured and Blue gesticulated in shotgun.

The way he kissed Ronan, eager to the point of frantic, like he couldn’t stop himself. So fucking greedy, even as Adam was careful. He never touched Ronan at Aglionby, before Ronan dropped out, and he was cautious about it in front of other people. 

At first Ronan wondered if Adam was ashamed of him. Ronan wouldn’t have minded if he was, exactly, but still: it hurt, a little, to think that.

But Adam didn’t seem ashamed, or angry at Ronan, or frustrated with himself, or like he still longed for the Maggot’s deadly kisses, or the less-deadly kisses of some other short and curvy girl who dressed out of a Goodwill reject bin. Ronan wasn’t really sure what about Blue had turned Adam’s crank.

And right now Ronan didn’t really care. Adam was shirtless in his childhood bedroom, in his childhood _bed_ , sunlight striping over his knobby shoulders and backlighting his sandy hair into a halo.

They were on Ronan’s bed, kissing.

Adam was always dragging Ronan off to kiss him. Anywhere they could get a second of privacy, Adam wanted him there: behind buildings, in his bed at St. Agnes’, out in a field by the sleeping cow barn, once in the bathroom at Monmouth, only to be uncharitably interrupted by Blue’s demands through the door for something out of the fridge. The vague hope that he’d be able to talk Parrish into cutting class, to try making out behind the squash courts, had been the only thing that kept him enrolled at Aglionby, these last limping weeks after Gansey’s resurrection.

Ronan could hardly think about it straight on — the kissing, how eager Adam always was. It felt fake. It felt like something out of a dream.

&&&&

Adam came to the Barns often, now. Ronan liked it. He liked that Adam didn’t quite fit, that the house felt different and like it was changing, with Ronan and Opal living in it and Adam a frequent visitor. It wasn’t at all the sort of household either of his parents would have stood for, but Ronan didn’t think about his parents often. The thought of the Barns changing didn’t make him angry the way thinking about his past usually did, though. If anything, it filled him with a vague and violent joy. 

Adam almost always fell asleep on the couch in the living room doing homework. Sometimes he and Ronan dozed squeezed together in Opal’s narrow twin bed while she dreamed, fitful and overexcited, in her pile of beanbag chairs and stuffed animals and throw pillows, until Adam’s watch beeped and he had to tiptoe out to drive back to Henrietta and his night shift.

He stayed late a lot, and slept over more rarely. Whenever Adam could beg off work or switch shifts on a weekend night, he slept in Declan’s room. 

Ronan slept alone in his own room, or let Opal climb in with him when they had nightmares.

Adam had seen Ronan’s room, of course; it was a big house, but it wasn’t big enough that Adam could completely miss an entire room. They’d never spent time there, though. Adam lingered at the door, and then averted his eyes, stepped back, like he was worried he was intruding.

Ronan wanted to tell him he was always welcome here. He wanted it to be obvious. But Adam was weird about things like that, and Ronan didn’t want to spoil this.

&&&&

Adam didn’t kiss him in front of Opal, even more carefully than he didn't kiss Ronan in front of people in general, but he’d curl their pinkies together under the table, or bump against him while Ronan burnt dinner, or run his hand over Ronan’s shaved head and _look_ at him, eyes all soft, until Ronan could feel himself turning red, burning up.

It wasn’t like Ronan had ever given Adam reason to believe that Ronan cared about shit like that, about intruding on his space or his things or his person. Ronan treated Adam’s apartment like it was his — which it was, it was Ronan’s church. He stole Adam’s t-shirts after crashing in his bed at St. Agnes while Adam was at work. Adam got them back, eventually, when they’d stopped smelling like him and Ronan dropped them in the wash with the rest of his shit. But still.

Adam got delicate with Ronan, sometimes. Ronan wanted to hate it, but it wasn’t like Adam stopped elbowing him in the forehead when he was being a dick, or that Adam was afraid to wallop him with a pillow if he stole all the blankets. It wasn’t that Adam was treating him like — well, like Gansey used to, like he was about to shatter.

Adam was just _careful_ with him. It still freaked Ronan out.

At first Ronan figured it was just — Adam didn’t know how to do this, that much was obvious. Which made Ronan feel a little better about Adam and Sargent, or Adam and whatever other girls had come before Ronan.

He was pretty sure there hadn’t been guys, and he couldn’t decide whether that made him feel better about this or not. He wanted the confirmation that Parrish was — whatever he was. That it wasn’t just Ronan, who wasn't looking to be anyone's exception. But he was often fiercely glad that no one had seen Adam like this before. That Adam’s wet mouth, the unsteady blush that would spring up on his neck and chest after half an hour of concentrated attention, the freckles on his eyelids, that all of this was just for him. That they were figuring it out together.

It wasn’t just the mechanics, though; Ronan hadn’t exactly gotten around before Adam, either. But kissing Adam was easy, easy to get better at, something he wanted to learn. Adam applied himself to kissing Ronan with the same earnest application of effort that had gotten him to and through Aglionby, which Ronan sometimes hated, but which mostly left him overwhelmed and shivering.

It was the other stuff. Adam’s palms got sweaty when they held hands, which, so did Ronan’s. But Adam always seemed ready to jerk his hand back into his jeans pocket. The second Ronan had to pull his hand away to wave Opal off a half-decomposed tractor or shoo Chainsaw away from the lambs, Adam’s hand was _gone_. Like he thought Ronan wanted to _stop_ , like he didn't realize Ronan would reach right back for Adam's hand the second he was done with whatever he'd needed it for.

Adam was awkward about touching Ronan’s hair, clumsy sliding a hand over Ronan’s neck to hold him still for a kiss, fucking skittish about letting his hands settle on Ronan’s — well, on Ronan’s anything — when they really got into it. He limited himself to little fleeting presses of two fingertips against Ronan's wrists, or sometimes his big hands curled over Ronan’s bicep.

Adam never put his hands anywhere Ronan wasn’t already showing skin, neither over his clothes nor under them. He never squeezed Ronan’s hip over his jeans, never even touched Ronan's back over his shirt. He kept his hands on Ronan’s arms, his head, the edges of tattoo that curled out from Ronan's neckline.

Adam was definitely _into_ him, though, enthusiastic when Ronan set the pace. Parrish didn’t stop Ronan from doing whatever the hell he wanted, pulling at Adam’s knee to slot their thighs together or leaning his weight to press Adam into a wall or, occasionally, tugging at Adam’s hair while Adam slid his tongue into Ronan’s mouth, dirty and eager, or sucked and bit at Ronan’s lower lip until it felt swollen.

Adam just stuck to things he knew Ronan liked. It was odd to Ronan, who thought of Adam as a strange and experimental creature. He didn't see why Adam was so constrained. Adam mirrored back what Ronan did, but even then he was hesitant. He kissed Ronan like he was drowning in him but he acted like no one had ever kissed his neck or licked the shell of his ear, like no one had ever wanted to get their hands on every part of Adam, figure out what he liked.

Ronan couldn’t understand that, but he’d spent hours staring at the tiny patch of stubble Adam always left behind his jaw, examining Adam’s elegant hands, wondering whether Adam’s ears were sensitive or if he’d hate being touched there now that he didn’t hear right. He had spent months wanting to know everything Adam liked. Maybe Ronan just wanted wrong.

Adam wanted Ronan, certainly; but he hardly seemed to know what he himself wanted, nevermind how to do it. Adam was inhibited, almost, went hot and cold at the drop of a hat. Mostly cold, though, drawing back by degrees as if he’d decided he wasn’t allowed things once he got good at them, or once he’d enjoyed them too much.

After that first night at the Barns, weeks ago, Adam hadn’t even asked to see Ronan’s tattoo again. Ronan couldn’t understand it, and when he tried to, the answers he came up with were less than ideal. Maybe Parrish wasn’t interested in Ronan’s kind of body. He didn’t like the thought.

But then, neither of them was experienced. Ronan was sure of his own mind, at least. He’d had months to think about what he wanted from Adam, how he wanted him; months to live it out in vivid color by night. Not that his dreams lived up to reality, or even got close.

He hadn’t had a dream like that since Adam had kissed him back.

Reality was nothing like his dreams, anyway. In reality, Adam was intense. Kissing him was grounding. Adam held onto Ronan too tight, as long as he thought he was allowed to, as long as he thought Ronan wouldn’t notice. He liked holding Ronan against walls, liked winding his arms around Ronan and holding him tight, liked folding one long hand over the back of Ronan’s neck to keep him in one place.

Parrish was a biter, too. He’d probably scratch Ronan up, even through his shirt, if his nails weren’t bitten short. If he ever decided he was allowed to do that. Ronan half-wished he would. He loved Adam’s hands, everything about them. But his teeth, at least, left marks — and Adam got crazy about marks, any kind of marks. When kissing after work left smudges of grease on Ronan, he’d smear it into Ronan’s skin before excusing himself to wash up, or suggesting that Ronan do the same.

It was like Adam didn’t know he liked it, though. He bit Ronan, but he got weird about the lingering ring of bruises around Ronan’s throat. It wasn’t until they faded into faint yellowish-green smudges that Adam gave Ronan a hickey for the first time, but after that it was like he couldn’t stop himself; he practically mauled Ronan, up against Gansey’s car in the lot at Monmouth, a kiss goodbye that got carried away.

Adam somehow didn’t notice the marks till the next day, when they had really darkened against Ronan’s neck. And maybe Ronan had dreamt about their kiss that night, after Adam drove off to his crappy third job, maybe he'd woken with the mark a little darker than it had been. But it was right smack on his neck, it would have been obvious no matter what. Parrish apparently hadn’t realized how noticeable it would be.

Cheng and Sargent catcalled and Gansey flustered, but Ronan didn’t give a shit — not that he would have anyway — because he’d been able to see Parrish fixate on the bruise, could practically watch Adam’s pupils dilate and his dick plump up against his thigh.

Parrish stuttered out some bullshit excuse, ignored Cheng's laughter and jumped to his feet like he was late for work. He'd hauled Ronan downstairs and out of Monmouth, into the empty lot, up against his shitty car until Ronan pushed him away long enough to reach over and open the door to his own car, get them into the backseat of the Beemer. Adam’s hands were sharp against his back, fisted in his tank top and his breath coming out in big uneven shuddering gusts against Ronan’s neck, his chest, his shoulder.

Ronan pulled his own shirt off, dropped it in the footwell with the rest of his generalized detritus, and Adam groaned, staring, shoving him into the backseat. Ronan banged his head against the other door and ended up awkwardly half-upright, too tall to fit in the backseat comfortably, his arms at his sides.

Adam pushed him down and they scrambled together with the door still open, Ronan’s legs hanging out of the car. Adam leaned over him with one knee braced against the console and his other knee shoved right against the crotch of Ronan’s jeans, his hands holding Ronan’s wrists down against the seat, and bent to suck dark marks all over Ronan’s neck and chest and shoulder. He worried a blooming mark into Ronan’s ribs and down over his soft stomach. Adam’s teeth were sharp and his hands folded tight around Ronan’s wrists. Ronan arched under him; he was close already, he’d been close since Adam _looked_ at him in Monmouth.

They’d been kissing for a month, maybe, but Ronan had been dreaming about Adam for longer. And this was so much better than a dream: the way Ronan could feel the bones in his wrists, Adam’s mouth wet and burning-hot against his skin, Adam’s knee hard and steady right where Ronan needed it. Ronan pressed his wrists up hard against Adam’s weight, rubbed himself up against Adam’s knee, the solid pressure of it holding his thighs open and the tiny movements getting the seam of his jeans to rub against his clit, just where he wanted it.

He didn’t want to stop. Ronan never wanted to stop anyway, with Adam, but this time he thought he might get there, felt the muscles in his stomach twitching and Adam was bent almost in half over him, Ronan looking down at Adam’s head, his hair, the tops of his ears. His breath on Ronan’s hipbone, and his lips over Ronan’s heart, and then his teeth worrying at Ronan’s nipple, all of it made Ronan cry out, made Ronan shiver under Adam.

Adam pulled away and Ronan said something, he didn’t know what, a curse or a plea, his hands pinioned down and fingers scrabbling over the leather, and Adam smiled. He bent and kissed Ronan’s other nipple softly enough that Ronan could barely feel it, before letting go of Ronan’s tingling wrists.

“No,” Ronan said, tugging Adam’s hands back against his, holding his hands up higher so Adam could bend over him if he wanted to, get horizontal instead of kneeling up, maybe slot their thighs together for real, let Ronan feel Adam hot and heavy in his threadbare work jeans.

Adam took Ronan’s wrists in both of his hands and brought them to his mouth. He breathed into Ronan’s palms, which was weird but Ronan wasn’t complaining, and then he put his mouth against Ronan’s wrist, looked at Ronan and pressed a wet kiss against the scars there, against Ronan’s thundering pulse. Ronan’s hips bucked.

 _Fuck_ , he thought.

“Fuck, Parrish,” he said, and he could tell his voice was wrecked. He was sure Adam could tell too; he closed his eyes and pressed another soft kiss into Ronan’s wrist before turning his face to kiss the other one. Ronan was sure Adam could feel him burning up through his jeans, hot against Adam’s knee. Fuck, he was close.

“Come on,” Ronan said, voice scraped raw, and he pulled his hands over his own head, resting against the window or the door handle or something, Ronan wasn’t about to look away from Adam to find out, but he wanted his wrists between Adam’s hands and something hard, wanted to rub off against Adam. He pushed Adam’s hands against his wrist with one hand, tugged at Adam’s shoulder with his other until Adam bent over him, and put his hand back over his head.

“Ronan —” Adam said, tentative, like he was about to ask a question, so Ronan rolled his eyes and bucked his hips, straining up to try and catch Adam’s mouth with his. Adam put his other hand on Ronan’s wrist, and it was so good, Adam’s weight on him and Ronan’s hands useless, Adam’s mouth against him and Ronan was working his hips a little harder now, probably gasping into Adam’s mouth but god he was _right_ there —

Adam bit Ronan’s lip, squeezed Ronan’s wrists hard enough that Ronan could feel his bones, and Ronan went off. He cried out, eyes shut, shuddering with his whole body, kicked out hard enough that his steel-toe boots dented the Hondoyota’s door.

&&&&

It wasn’t like Ronan didn’t know Adam was into him; that much was obvious. Getting off together should have changed something, though, and it didn’t seem like it had.

Adam pulled his hands off Ronan’s wrists while he was still riding out the last waves. He sat upright on his heels, fast enough that he banged his head on the Beemer’s roof.

“Sorry,” Adam said, hurried and horrified, and he winced at the sight of Ronan spread out under him. Adam shifted his weight, nudged one of Ronan’s legs down into the footwell so he could almost sit sideways on the seat, so his thighs weren’t interlaced with Ronan’s anymore.

Ronan wasn’t exactly flattered by the reaction. He stared up at Adam, wondering what he’d done wrong. He could feel his pulse thundering in his skull.

He swallowed, but his tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He didn’t think he’d be able to get the words out even if he’d known what to say.

Adam seemed anxious and at a loss, hunched over and worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Ronan’s mouth gave a sympathetic throb and Ronan had to shudder again, shut his eyes and shiver into something that could have been an aftershock.

He opened his eyes when he felt Adam’s hand against his bare stomach, rubbing over the soft spot right beneath Ronan’s ribs. He’d left a spectacular mark there, vivid red, and now Adam was touching it carefully with two fingertips, like he wanted to see if it hurt but wasn’t quite willing to press down hard enough to check.

Ronan caught Adam’s eye, briefly, before it flickered back down to his bitten-up chest. “I really didn’t mean to —” Adam started, shamefaced like he thought Ronan was going to get mad at him, like he thought Ronan was _capable_ of getting mad at him right now, so Ronan cut him off with a laugh.

Ronan disabused him of that notion as thoroughly as he could, still orgasm-stupid and even less verbal than normal. He pulled Adam back down and rolled them awkwardly sideways, so he could kiss Adam while keeping his hands on him, reassure him that this was exactly what Ronan wanted. He didn’t care if Adam was wild over him or calm under his hands. Ronan didn’t give a damn how he had Adam as long as it was _Adam_ here, with him, exactly as he was or as he could be, and nothing less.

Adam’s hands were gentle on his bare back, tracing barely-there lines up his tattoo, the calloused pads of his fingers settling more firmly until Adam wasn’t tentative anymore, but really pressing into the skin and holding him close, licking at his mouth and ducking his head to bite at Ronan’s jaw.

Parrish pressed forward to kiss Ronan with his knees tucked up, not letting Ronan really feel him, and Ronan wanted to. He wanted to press his hip and his thigh against Adam’s cock, wanted to feel it through his jeans. He wanted to rub off against him, maybe chase it again on Adam’s thigh while he did the same for Adam. He wanted to know if Adam stayed quiet like he did when they kissed or if he’d be noisy, for once—

Ronan ended up trying to roll backwards with a hand pushing on Adam’s thigh, give Adam’s long legs a little more room to stretch out, and tipped into the footwell instead. Adam, the shithead, refused to help him up and laughed at him the whole time, sweet and happy, not mean, so Ronan couldn’t even pretend to be pissed about it.

Ronan was so pleased with the whole endeavor that he scowled up at Adam entirely for show. But for once he could tell it wasn’t convincing, was sure that Adam could see how he felt. He was thrilled to see Adam go from worried and eager to laughing, his whole face open, and then to realize, wonderingly, that Adam was awkward and embarrassingly careful with him because he _cared_ about Ronan.

&&&&

It wasn’t until much later that Ronan realized it, but Adam didn’t know they’d just had sex.

&&&&

Ronan had been confused, at first, when they hadn’t done it again as soon as possible, or ideally — even better — why Adam hadn’t expected Ronan to return the favor right away.

Not that it was a favor, or whatever. It wasn’t like Ronan was the kind of guy who kept score. He knew Adam was, though he didn’t really understand it, had mostly circumvented that facet of Adam’s personality before by actively ignoring it, or by letting the blame fall on Gansey when it had to.

But Adam had gone home after swearing at the Hondoyota’s new dent. Some fucking loss there. Ronan didn’t feel bad, but still. Adam crept past the BMW’s open door, couldn’t close it because Ronan’s legs were too long, climbed into his car and drove back to St. Agnes’ to shower and change before work.

He left Ronan lying on his back, still seeing stars, and then didn’t call him after work that night like he sometimes did. Like he probably should have, after — whatever. Their first time.

Ronan didn’t want to admit he’d wanted to hear from him. He got mad about it the way he usually did over little things, which was to say, more at himself than at Adam. The hell was he thinking, wanting fucking — _romance_ , or some bullshit. Ronan wouldn’t have let on about it, would have kept it under wraps, but Adam saw him the next day, at Nino’s with everyone else.

When Ronan slouched into Nino’s late, and slid into the booth next to Adam like he always did, now, like he'd been doing for weeks, Adam didn't lean into his side. He kept a careful distance between them. 

Adam looked at the marks he’d left on Ronan, too, the ones on Ronan’s throat, and on his collarbones, and disappearing under his shirt. It made his ears go a little pink, charmingly. When Ronan settled along Adam's side and tried to touch his neck, though, Adam just cleared his throat, got back to talking and shifted away.

Parrish wasn’t touching him.

They were sitting close-packed, all piled into a booth, but Adam was very careful to keep himself separate from Ronan. No arm over his shoulders, no thighs pressed together. No fucking footsie.

Ronan bumped his elbow against Adam’s, and Adam shifted forward to point something out on the map Gansey had spread out over the table. When he was done talking and leaned back, he kept his arm out of Ronan’s way. Ronan dug his knee against Adam’s under the table and Adam tilted his leg away.

Ronan wondered if this was some sort of convoluted tease, and tried putting his hand on Adam’s thigh — he wanted to feel Adam’s jeans under his palm, the muscle in his leg, he’d barely touched Adam yesterday and it was killing him — and Parrish actually flinched, a full-body twitch and a pained little blink.

Ronan let go like he’d been burned, drew his hand back on top of the table and acted like he’d just wanted one of Gansey’s fries. Adam’s face was turned away, looking at Gansey, but Parrish wasn’t great at subtle, when it came to Ronan.

He could tell Adam was looking at his hand on the table, now, where it wasn’t touching Adam because Adam didn’t want to be touched, where his wrists still had faint pink marks from yesterday. Ronan’s simmering irritation tipped over into a boil.

Gansey didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss, but Cheng made outrageous dismayed eyes at Ronan over the table and mouthed something that could have been _are you fighting?!_ or _lover’s quarrel!?_

So what if it was. At least Ronan was with someone, not just following Sargent around like he didn’t notice the way it made Gansey’s face crumple to look at the two of them together. Gansey was supposed to be Cheng's _friend_ now; as far as Ronan was concerned, that was supposed to matter. Ronan gave Cheng a dirty look, timed so it’d arrive when Cheng was all puffed up and ready to impress Sargent when she dropped by their table.

The look made him deflate, satisfyingly, and Gansey’s upset eyebrows peaceably unfurrowed. Ronan waited for Adam to nudge him, affirm their conspiratorial _fuck that guy_ alliance, but when Ronan glanced at Adam, the corner of his mouth was settled into a disapproving frown.

Gansey was saying something to Cheng, whose reply was a notch or two less peppy than his usual setting, but even so, Ronan felt his smirk settle into a scowl. He and Adam were fighting, or Ronan was just being _sensitive_. Either way, it was none of Cheng’s business. What mattered to Ronan was that Adam had seen what Ronan liked, and now he couldn’t stand Ronan’s hands on him.

&&&&

So Ronan had been pissy about that for a couple days, having to deal with it.

He and Adam had fought before, obviously. Their fights were straightforward and absolute.

Adam had said, “you know it’s stupid not to finish your degree,” and Ronan had said, “I wouldn’t stay another day at that school if my fucking life depended on it,” and Adam had let it drop. Ronan had signed the withdrawal form the next day.

Or the time Ronan had said, “why are you still driving that godfuck abomination of a car,” and Adam had firmed his jaw and said something Ronan mostly ignored about keeping a low profile while Seondeok’s people were keeping an eye on the Lynch family, and made an awkward joke Ronan mostly believed, about Adam not being that type of girl. So: no new car yet, and Ronan tucked gas money into Adam's pants pocket, or visited Adam at St. Agnes’ when he could.

Ronan didn’t want this — sex, their relationship, whatever Adam wanted or didn’t want — to be a fight like that. 

Saying, “you seem fine kissing me but you sure as hell don’t seem to want to touch me,” was the kind of opener that would put Adam on the spot. Ronan didn’t want to force him into an absolute _yes, I do_ when he might be uncertain, or into a frank _no_ Ronan didn’t want to hear.

Ronan didn’t want something one-sided, where he didn’t have anything to offer. He wanted to be good for Adam, the way Adam was good to him. Awkwardly but unmistakably.

Thinking about it made him short with Adam, frustrated. He didn’t want to be but couldn’t help it. Maybe Adam didn’t want him at all after this. Or at least not like Ronan thought he did. 

Or he had worse thoughts, about himself, not about Adam. Thoughts about the way Ronan liked Adam’s strong hands and sharp teeth, the way he wanted to be taken apart, and how he wanted Adam to be the one to do it. Ronan refused to be ashamed of that, but he didn’t want Adam to hate him for it, either.

The thought of Adam hating him, hating this, stung sharper than he’d expected it to, in a way he didn’t know how to deal with anymore. At least, not without drinking, which he couldn’t do with Parrish around all the time, shouldn't do so much of anyway, or racing, which. Not so much an option anymore. And he might have come across other options if he'd really put his mind to it, but he had Opal to look out for, now, and also himself. He couldn’t run himself off the road anymore. Metaphorically speaking.

He didn’t avoid Parrish, exactly, even though he was mad. He always wanted to see Adam. But he managed to go four days straight without seeing him, anyway, somehow.

Maybe that was for the best, because when he did finally see Parrish, Ronan fucked it up within five minutes of his car rolling up the driveway.

&&&&

Adam got out of his car, unsmiling. His gaze caught on Ronan’s wrists, where they poked out of his jacket sleeves. Ronan was wearing his leather wristbands again. It wasn’t like any of the marks Adam had left were still there, if that's why he was checking.

Ronan shook his sleeve down over his wrists, nettled. He'd just needed something to chew on, the last few days. He’d already worn right through the hem of his favorite hoodie by accident.

Their usual thing, when Ronan knew Adam didn’t have work that night, was a hello and then some bullshit excuse. Something to do in the morning casually dropped into the conversation: so, you know, Adam might as well stay over. It was a routine worn transparent enough by now that Adam clearly had begun to expect it.

That warmed Ronan: that they had a routine, that Adam counted on him, even as he heard himself saying, “Just let me know what time you gotta head out so I can have food ready before you go.”

Adam had already opened his mouth to reply, half-smiling, to what he’d thought Ronan was about to say. Instead of saying it, he pulled away from Ronan, looked uncomfortable.

“I think I should go,” he said, which was so far from the reaction Ronan expected that he’d just stood there watching Adam get back into his car and start it up, stupid as hell.

&&&&

Ronan felt like shit when he remembered that he _knew_ Parrish wouldn’t stay anywhere if he hadn’t been invited — it was immediate, the first thought in his head as he stared at Adam’s muddy tire tracks. He hadn’t meant to step on a genuine insecurity. He just couldn’t stand the thought of Adam sleeping in the next room again, a wall between their beds, chaste as fucking nuns when what Ronan wanted was to act out every dream he’d had in the last month. Six months. Year. Who was counting, really.

He walked it back as soon as he could, called Parrish while he must have still been on the driveway, made a fucking _effort_. He told Adam he could stay over whenever he wanted, clumsy and too-blunt, but pissed off that he’d fucked up by accident Not even an intentional jackassery. 

Adam came back right away; it wasn’t as though he’d just _leave_. Adam wouldn’t do that. Not over something like this. He wanted to be with Ronan, physically with him, even though Ronan was a dumbass who'd just hurt his feelings or whatever; this was reassuring on a level Ronan couldn't explain. 

Ronan had been hoping for a carefree afternoon, some exorcism of his frustration, and instead he had his own foul mood and Adam's hurt feelings. But at least he had Adam.

Adam was guarded with him. Ronan felt like he ought to be apologizing. Ronan fucking hated it, all the more because it was probably fair, probably Ronan’s fault, for being shitty for no reason.

They didn’t do much. Opal was away, doing something woodsy and magical with Blue and Gwenllian, so it was just the two of them: Ronan wrapped up in his anger and Adam blank as a fucking stone wall. There was nothing to do at the Barns when they were like this, nothing and no one for Ronan to wear his rage down on except Adam, and he had no interest in doing that. They walked around, looking at dreams, Ronan simmering with his hands jammed into his pockets, Adam ambling after him, vague-eyed instead of his usual attentive self.

Even the weather was half-assed, last night’s rain lingering in the form of squat clouds. The sky was half-sunny, but the clouds that remained were low-hanging and dense grey, enough to overshadow the sun.

Ronan would have welcomed Adam’s usual bullshit about the laws of thermo-whatever or conservation of who gave a shit, questions about his progress with the sleeping cows. Literally anything. But Adam was quiet right up until Ronan snarled, “Fuck this,” and whirled around, ready to yell but with nothing to say.

He wanted to pick a fight, but not with Adam, not over this; this wasn’t the sort of spat that could blow over, that they could build around. If Adam regretted last time, that would be it. They’d be done. 

Ronan couldn’t deal with that.

But Adam was pissed, too. His eyes flashed at Ronan and his face was suddenly vivid, the magic around him strong enough that Ronan could feel it buzzing in his teeth.

“What,” Adam snapped, “is your fucking _problem_ ,” because he could be a jackass too, sometimes. Both of them had fucking tempers and Ronan knew Adam hated getting like this. He could see it in the stiffness in Adam’s shoulders, the tilt of his elbows, how desperately he was trying to restrain himself and yet how badly he wanted to be moving. 

Ronan wanted to shake him, unroot him. He stood still, and didn’t say anything. Ronan didn’t know what his problem was. Ronan was trying to come up with something to say when Adam jerked around, turning his back on Ronan and planting his feet firmly in the ground.

He reached out one hand just enough to get it around some waist-high plants — grass, or weeds, Ronan didn’t know, long green thin stalks with delicate yellow tips, some of them with tiny white flowers splitting at the tips, grew all over the damn place, he’d never thought to wonder what they were but he was sure Adam would know, unless they were dream flowers — and tugged on them, tearing hard enough that they should have come out at the roots.

They stayed rooted, and the tension drained out of Adam’s frame until he was just Adam, tired and sick of Ronan’s shit.

&&&&

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ronan said. “Last time.” Just in case Adam didn’t know.

“You’ve been avoiding me since then,” Adam said, and turned back to look at Ronan, who didn’t deny it. Adam was still holding onto the plants, his shoulders slumped. “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Ronan said, and was surprised when Adam reached out with his free hand to rub at the mark still fading on Ronan’s neck. He hadn’t realized they were standing close enough to touch.

Adam didn’t say anything. Ronan raised his eyebrows. He didn’t say: you think that hurt? He didn’t say: from you, because you're you, I’d take anything.

Adam must have heard it anyway, because he quirked his mouth and let go of his handful of plants. He rubbed over Ronan’s neck a little harder.

Ronan took Adam’s wrist and pulled him a half step closer. Adam kissed him softly, their mouths pressed together. Adam’s lips were chapped as always, and Ronan’s weren't much better the way he’d been chewing on them.

Adam was saying: I don’t want to hurt you. Ronan pulled away from the kiss, which was barely a kiss, really, not even any tongue, and pressed their foreheads together, swallowed while he tried to get his words straight.

&&&&

“You’re not like him,” Ronan said, like an idiot. That wasn’t even what he’d been planning on saying, because there was no way a conversation about this would end well. But Adam didn’t pull away or shove him or scowl or anything like that, just squeezed at the back of Ronan’s neck like he loved to do whenever they were kissing. He left their foreheads together and moved his other hand so that Ronan was holding it, palms together and fingers laced.

Ronan could feel Adam breathing.

“I get mad,” Adam said, after a long pause, like it fucking killed him to get the words out. “Sometimes.” 

Ronan snorted. Adam tensed, finally, and Ronan couldn’t help it, he laughed a little, bubbling, almost a giggle, and when Adam pulled away all injured Ronan was quick to take his hand again before he could get more than a few steps away.

He said, “Who the fuck are you talking to,” because Adam wasn’t an idiot, even when he was. But he said it gently, because — well. Because Ronan got mad all the time but he didn’t want to be shitty on purpose. Not when he was trying to make it right. Because it was Adam, and Ronan wasn’t scared of his anger.

They stood there like that, holding hands but not standing close, staring awkwardly at each other’s knuckles, or the ground, or the clouds, but definitely not making eye contact. Adam tugged at Ronan’s hand and they started walking back towards the house again, and at least that way they didn’t have to look at each other.

“You make me fucking crazy,” Adam said all in a rush once they were close enough to see the house again, and let go of Ronan’s hand, like he couldn’t be honest and allowed to touch Ronan at the same time. “I’m so, it — scares me, I left _bruises_ ,” and Ronan tried to argue with him, but Adam said “not just the hickeys, I saw your wrists, too,” before Ronan could get a word in, so Ronan shut his mouth on a scowl and tried to enjoy the way Adam’s ears turned red on the word _hickey_.

Voice Henrietta-slow, the way it got when he was emotional enough that he forgot to try hide it, Adam continued, “and that was just _kissing_ , you make me so — how am I supposed to, how are _you_ supposed to trust me with anything, um, more, like if we try —” and by then his whole face was red, and Ronan, dawningly delighted, pushed him over into a muddy puddle, the last lingering evidence of last night’s rain, before Adam could try to say the word _sex_ out loud.

&&&&

That was when Ronan realized Adam had no idea why he’d been pissed. _Just kissing_ , Jesus. He could tell Adam was confused by the change in Ronan's mood, by how fast he’d ricocheted from pissed to — to, happy, whatever, but Adam could clearly tell that Ronan was over what been stuck in his craw, and he didn’t seem liable to dig his heels in and fight for the sake of it, so that was that. 

Fighting with Adam was easy. Or, well, a pain in the ass, but at least it happened when it happened and then it was over when it was over. Neither of them held grudges.

Ronan made additional conciliatory gestures by way of dragging Adam, still muddy, over to his favorite barn. He’d spent yesterday rigging up the pulley. Adam noticed right away, glancing at the pulley and the ropes and the flat plywood square and the open second-floor barn door, set up to get hay up into the hayloft.

Ronan grinned. “Hey, Parrish,” he said, all drawly, because he could see Adam starting to smile back at him, a little more crookedly uncertain than Ronan liked it, but. 

Adam said, “If we haul that platform up, how much weight can it hold?”

Ronan said, “Dare you to find out,” and Adam was smiling, really smiling, bright as the afternoon sun emerging from behind a cloud.

&&&&

The answer, it turned out, had less to do with weight and more to do with the structural integrity of plywood when it’d had Ronan and Adam jumping at it out of the second-floor hayloft for an hour.

They took turns jumping out of the second story of the barn, onto the plywood platform, and letting each other down while it swung wildly. It wasn’t a difficult jump, impossible to miss with just a few steps head start, and the platform and ropes were wide and easy to catch. The hayloft was about twenty feet up. It was just the risk of falling that made it fun.

The platform finally splintered on Adam’s turn. The ropes, at least, were made out of something sturdier than cheap plywood — Ronan wasn’t sure what, but he’d found a few lengths of it in one of the barns. Adam caught tight to the ropes, then, let the platform fall out from under his feet and braced his foot in the loop of rope, wrapped some around his forearm. He stood there, dangling, a living and laughing pendulum, as Ronan hurriedly uncoiled rope to let him down to the ground.

Ronan was sure, now, that the ropes must be dream things, because while Adam’s forearms and his own hands were reddened, neither of them was bleeding from rope burn. Adam was still smiling, bright and airy, when he got both his feet solidly back on the ground and allowed Ronan to check him over. Ronan pretended he hadn’t had a terrified pang when Adam was dangling fifteen feet above the ground hanging onto some fucking ropes like he wasn’t about to break his fool neck.

He was pretty sure Adam could tell, though, the way he thumped at Ronan’s shoulder, let Ronan run his hands over him and hold him for a few moments.

And anyway, Ronan noticed the way Adam put his face into Ronan’s shoulder, relaxed into him, his relief obvious. So they were both glad they weren’t fighting anymore.

Ronan took Adam’s hand again, and Adam rested it heavy in his, didn’t get ready to twitch it away at the slightest provocation.

They made it back to the house and Adam kicked his shoes off on the porch, still holding onto Ronan’s hand. He held on tight to balance, and Ronan said, “so,” wanting to offer Adam a reason to stay. He didn’t have an excuse prepared. He tried to come up with some bullshit reason. Strawberries for breakfast, out of season; a bird on the property that sang the colors of the sunrise; coffee that’d keep Adam awake all day without leaving him jittery. They were all bullshit reasons and they always had been, and Ronan had never been a liar.

He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make him into one.

Gently, Adam squeezed Ronan’s hand, and said: “I can stay.”

&&&&

Ronan didn’t feel like he needed to be gentled. It stung a little, the way it always did.

But Adam was staying even though they’d just had a fight, and Ronan wasn’t in a hurry to start a new one. He could be gracious.

They headed inside, Adam wincing over the rope burn on Ronan’s palms while Ronan tried to swat him away.

“Go shower,” Ronan said, finally, a last resort, because Adam loved showering at the Barns, the endless hot water and fancy shower heads. He took indulgent showers: half an hour bare minimum, usually longer. Then Adam would come out pink-cheeked and as relaxed as Ronan ever saw him, and lean over Ronan to drip on him, or shake his wet hair on Ronan like a dog.

Adam gave Ronan a look at the suggestion, like he knew what Ronan was doing but also like willing to go along with it. He headed upstairs easily enough. Ronan felt an embarrassing lurch of affection, and of something else, too; he loved Adam’s hard-won familiarity with the Barns, loved it when Adam made himself at home.

Ronan followed him up after hanging around in the kitchen for a few minutes, trying to get ahold of himself. Adam was in Ronan’s usual bathroom, using his usual towel. Ronan grabbed some clothes to loan him: underwear, and a pair of Aglionby tennis sweats, and a soft white t-shirt that was either ridiculously expensive or dreamed. Ronan wasn’t sure anymore, if he ever had been.

He left the clothes outside the bathroom. He’d thought about poking his head into the room and leaving them in the sink, making sure Adam was really still in one piece, but he’d gotten distracted standing outside the door, thinking about Adam unhurt and in one piece in his shower, so. Outside the door it was.

Ronan stripped down, left his dirty clothes on the floor in the hallway because Adam would give him shit for it when he came out of the shower and Ronan loved that, and then stood there for a second, naked and thinking.

He wasn’t as sticky as Adam had been, with mud and puddle water and then barn dust and straw on top of it, but Ronan went into the master bath anyway, to wash off.

He didn’t let his hands linger. He wasn’t thinking about what Adam was doing across the house. Ronan absolutely refused to speculate as to what else Adam did when he showered that long, but he was pretty sure it was a losing battle. He could refuse to speculate all he wanted, but Ronan still _dreamed_.

There weren’t any linens in the master bath anymore, and hadn’t been for years, so Ronan dripped water into the hallway and dug through the linen closet to find a him-sized towel Opal hadn’t already pilfered for one of her nests.

He dried off on the walk back to his room, and left the towel on the floor while he pulled clothes on. Boxers and a worn t-shirt of Adam’s that had started out moth-eaten around the neckline, and that Ronan had chewed enough that Adam had told him, half-appalled, just to keep it.

&&&&

Having done everything he could think of to kill time, Ronan rattled aimlessly around the house, opening cabinets and slamming drawers. He didn’t know what they’d eat for dinner.

Now that he knew what Adam had been worried about, he kept running flashes of the last few days through his head. Adam had been worried about hurting Ronan, which was ridiculous. Ronan didn’t know what to do with that. He wondered if they were going to have to talk about it.

Ronan slammed a cabinet door, and then opened it and slammed it again. He was restless. He should nap. He didn’t think he’d be able to, but he headed up to his room anyway and lay there, staring at the ceiling.

&&&&

“Hey,” Adam said. He was in Ronan’s doorway, hovering, with Ronan’s dirty clothes in one hand. His hair was dry, a little fluffier than normal. Ronan wondered if he’d blow-dried it.

“Pick up your clothes,” Adam said, like he always did, when Ronan looked over. “You’re not an animal.” 

Ronan quirked an eyebrow at him, half conceding the point. “No,” he responded, “but I was raised in a barn,” like he always did when Adam told him off.

But then, instead of throwing Ronan’s dirty clothes at him and heading back downstairs, Adam rapped two knuckles against the doorframe. He promptly blushed like he wanted to sink through the floor, which wasn’t an expression Ronan got to see often. He enjoyed it, and raised both eyebrows at Parrish. 

“Um,” Adam said. “Can I come in?”

“Door’s open,” Ronan said, which it was, but. Trying to be cool about it. Like there was any fucking chance he’d say no to Adam in his room.

Adam dumped Ronan’s clothes, and his own muddy laundry, into the hamper at the footend of Ronan’s bed. Ronan noticed him holding Ronan’s cellphone; he must have fished it out of one of Ronan's pockets. Adam slid the keyboard open and shut in his hand as he took the last few steps to stand next to Ronan’s bed, almost a nervous tic. He was wearing the clothes Ronan had left out for him. His sweats were riding low on Adam’s hips. The elastic hem of his briefs was showing a little. Ronan wanted to bite it.

“You want something?” Ronan asked, instead, rolling upright so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, because Adam never came into his room. Even when Ronan left the door open. Something must be different.

“Gansey called when I was getting out of the shower,” Adam said, and it took Ronan a second to process because he was so busy staring at Adam. Adam, in his room. Adam was frowning a little, looking at Ronan’s sunlit window. “He wants to know if we’re up for Nino’s?”

“Uh,” Ronan said, when Adam finally looked at him, trying to reconstruct what Adam had said because he had _not_ been listening. He finally got there right as Adam opened his mouth to repeat himself. Ronan didn’t let him, saying, “sure, yeah, that sounds — good,” because it did.

“I had no idea what we were gonna do for food,” he added, when Adam didn’t say anything.

Adam said, “Oh,” and Ronan frowned.

“No,” Adam said, hurriedly, “It's nothing. I just told Gansey — I figured I should ask. Doesn’t make much sense for us to drive out and then back here, is all, but —”

Ronan said, “So I’ll sleep at your place, what’s the big deal,” without thinking about it. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if that was still okay. He’d slept over at St. Agnes fairly frequently before he and Adam had taken up together, and a few times since, but always on the floor or in the bathtub. He’d also slept in Adam’s bed, sometimes even with Adam in it. But never overnight. Just lazy mornings while Adam was at school, or afternoons and evenings until Adam kicked him out to go to work.

Adam said, “Oh — great, yeah, I’ll just call him back —” and gestured over his shoulder as if he was about to leave, hurry out of Ronan’s room with things still a little awkward between them.

Ronan bent forward and took Adam’s wrist. “Send a text,” he said, grudgingly but as gently as he could. He wanted Adam here, not making excuses to leave.

“In an hour or so?” Adam said, and Ronan grunted his assent. Adam opened Ronan’s phone. Ronan assumed he was texting Gansey their ETA, his thumbs moving fast over the keyboard.

Ronan tugged at the back of Adam’s leg, and Adam stepped forward to stand right in front of Ronan, their knees touching. He finished whatever he was doing with the phone, finally, slid the keyboard shut and looked down at Ronan.

Ronan looked back. Adam was holding his phone in one hand, and resting that wrist against Ronan’s shoulder. But his other hand was dangling by his side, so Ronan took it. He interlaced their fingers, and then he and Parrish stared at each other, half-smiling in the ever-present afternoon sun, for some interminable length of time.

Finally, the moment broke. 

“How does that work?” Adam said. “The window.”

He was looking over Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just sunny while the shades are down,” he said. “It’s a normal window when you roll them up.”

“Huh,” Adam said, putting his phone down on Ronan’s dresser and leaning over to investigate more closely. Ronan’s nose was almost touching Adam’s chest. He could smell his own detergent off the shirt, which was also Ronan’s, and they were in Ronan’s bedroom.

Ronan had to shut his eyes so he didn’t explode.

He could hear Adam messing with the shades, and then the weight of Adam’s hand on his shoulder increased just as the mattress shifted, like Adam was balancing to put a knee up next to one of Ronan’s. Ronan’s eyes flew open.

Adam was half in his lap, clearly a little uncomfortable. But only a little. Just embarrassed, maybe. Ronan moved his free hand from where he’d had it clenched in the unmade sheets to Adam’s hip, fitted his palm over the jut of bone so his thumb was almost touching the trail of hair on Adam’s stomach, and squeezed. He pulled Adam closer, rubbed his face into Adam’s chest and kissed his sternum, but his touch had unbalanced Adam enough that the two of them fell backwards together. Which meant that Ronan was in his bed, in his underwear. With Adam on top of him.

“Just,” Adam said, and he was going to sit up and pull away and say something about the damn window, Ronan could just tell. He prepared to say something back, tried to get his brain to concentrate on words, really on anything other than Adam, but instead Adam kissed him.

Ronan made an embarrassing sound and kissed back, his hand squeezing hard at Adam’s hip, digging his thumb into the little raised scar next to Adam’s belly button. He was torn between pressing up against Adam and pulling Adam down on top of him. Instead of doing either he just clung to Adam, and licked at Adam’s teeth. The inside of his mouth was sweet, and a little sour, like Adam hadn't had anything but a soda before driving over.

Adam pulled away just as suddenly as he’d started kissing him, or tried to, but Ronan had his fingertips tucked into the waistband of Adam’s briefs — Ronan’s briefs, really, but Adam was wearing them, and wasn’t that a thought — so Adam couldn’t move far.

“Shit,” Adam said, licking his own mouth. Ronan was barely listening. 

“I wasn’t going to do that,” Adam said, and Ronan pulled him back in, mostly by the hip. He kissed Adam again, fit his free hand against the side of Adam’s neck and tried to indicate that Adam could do that any time he liked, really, but Adam pulled away again.

That time, Ronan let him, discontented and feeling another flash of inhibition, of unease, of worry that Adam wasn’t interested. If Adam didn’t want to —

But Adam was hot-eyed and pushing at Ronan, climbing up into Ronan’s bed and trying to get Ronan into it, too, pushing his knee against the inside of Ronan’s thigh and lifting Ronan’s knee with a hand to push it into the bed. Ronan scrambled up, eager.

“Yeah,” Ronan said, when they were settled, with Adam mostly sitting on Ronan’s legs. Adam spread his hands out over Ronan’s chest, found a nipple through his shirt, but still seemed unsure.

“Really,” Adam said, in a serious voice that sounded like he’d learned it from Gansey, and Ronan tried so hard not to roll his eyes.

“Is this, um, okay?” Adam asked, bending down to put his palm next to Ronan’s ear, his other hand still resting against Ronan’s chest. Ronan did roll his eyes at that, and Adam kissed the corner of Ronan’s mouth.

Adam seemed like he wasn’t about to do anything without getting verbal confirmation, though, and fuck that: Ronan put his hand on Adam’s side, rubbed at his ribs. Adam smiled, still painfully unsure, and then Ronan fisted his hand in Adam’s t-shirt and tugged it up.

Adam got on board once Ronan had tugged it half over his head, tangled it around his arms. He sat back onto his knees to struggle the rest of the way out of his shirt, and Ronan took the opportunity to haul both of Adam's legs between his thighs. Adam swore, unbalanced, and listed into the wall.

He stayed that way, balanced between one knee and his shoulder where it was pressed into the wallpaper, even when Ronan put his knee back down on the mattress, until he finally got his shirt over his arms.

Adam emerged, flushed all the way down his neck, and flung his shirt across the room, before shifting his weight to kneel between Ronan’s spread legs. It landed on Ronan’s vanity, hanging half over the mirror. Ronan could hardly look at him. He stared after his shirt, instead.

“Nice throw, Parrish,” Ronan said, because there was suddenly a whole lot more Adam to see than he was used to, and he couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

Mercifully, Adam ignored him. He put his hand on the bedspread next to Ronan’s head again, and leaned down to kiss him.

Adam was kneeling over Ronan on his hands and knees, keeping careful distance between them, and Ronan didn’t want that, for all that he was so overwhelmed he couldn’t look at Adam except tiny glances out of the corner of his eye. He kissed Adam, sweet and slow, and then squirmed to knock one of Adam’s knees out from under him, got his hand on the back of Adam’s other thigh to tug him down.

Adam collapsed on top of him with a swear, and thumped his hand against Ronan’s shoulder while Ronan was catching his breath. Not that Parrish was that heavy. Neither of them moved, though. Ronan waited for Adam to try to struggle back up to his knees, but he just rubbed his face into Ronan’s neck. Ronan wrapped one arm around Adam’s skinny chest, and squeezed, just to be sure.

“Asshole,” Adam said, contentedly, and relaxed his whole weight against Ronan before he kissed underneath Ronan’s ear. He was very warm against Ronan’s chest, his hips digging into Ronan’s thighs where he’d landed awkwardly.

Adam’s dick was digging against Ronan a little, too, against the inner crease of his hip where his boxers were crumpled up. Adam was holding very still. Maybe he thought Ronan wouldn’t notice it if he didn’t move. Like a rabbit.

Ronan didn’t think Adam was hard, but wasn’t sure he _wasn’t_ , either.

“Sorry,” Adam mumbled. “Sorry, I’ll —” and he was trying to roll off of Ronan. Ronan’s hand was still on the back of Adam’s thigh, and he squeezed — he’d been planning to move his hand, maybe put it on Adam’s bare back, touch his ribs, something — but Adam stopped trying to move away at Ronan's touch. And, better still, he let out a noise. It was quiet, barely there, more of a puff of breath against Ronan’s throat than anything audible, but Ronan wanted to hear it again.

He squeezed again and slid his hand up Adam’s thigh so it ended up right under Parrish’s flat ass, and there it was again, a trembling little exhale.

Ronan grinned. Adam was pressing his face against Ronan’s neck hard, by then, and when Ronan rubbed his hand up and down Adam’s thigh again, Adam managed to bite back another noise by biting Ronan’s neck.

It came out anyway, just strangled, a little vocalized _nnnnhh_ around Adam’s teeth, and Ronan laughed. He pressed his palm down, dug his fingers into Adam’s inner thigh through his borrowed sweats, and Adam rocked his hips, swearing. He managed to fight his arms out from where they’d been crushed against Ronan’s ribs and got his elbows over Ronan’s shoulders, rubbed his mouth up Ronan’s neck to bite sharply at his jaw and then at Ronan’s mouth.

Ronan moaned, and didn’t bother to hold back a curse when Adam licked into his mouth. Adam was burning up against Ronan, their chests pressed together and sunlight spilling over his his back. He was paler there, less freckled, but he had dozens of moles.

Ronan pressed his fingertips against one. He badly wanted to kiss Adam there, but Adam was moving against him, pressing his thigh up into Ronan’s palm and just barely moving his hips.

Adam hadn’t been hard before, Ronan was now sure. But that had changed.

Ronan squeezed Adam’s thigh again before sliding his hand up and over Adam’s ass to settle his bare palm into Adam’s low back, rubbing at the dip of his spine.

Adam made a garbled noise into Ronan’s mouth that could have been Ronan’s name as easily as a curse, before jerking his face away from Ronan’s to bite his own lip and pant. Adam was frozen over him, so tense he was nearly trembling. Ronan turned his head to press his temple against Adam’s and blow into his good ear, because he knew Adam liked that.

“Yeah,” Ronan said, softly. Ronan lifted his head to kiss Adam’s corded neck. He left his hand on Adam’s low back but lifted the other one to rub over Adam’s shoulder, hold him down.

Adam didn’t relax against him, but he gasped again, and his hips twitched. He was trying so hard to hold still, Ronan thought, fondly. The idiot.

Ronan kissed Adam’s neck again, sealed his mouth over the skin and sucked a little, working his tongue. Adam’s weight settled a little more firmly against Ronan’s, so Ronan moved his mouth and did it again, bit a mark into the side of Adam’s neck before sucking Adam’s earlobe into his mouth.

Adam gasped “ _Ronan_ ” urgently, before pulling his head away. He lifted his elbows from where they were resting around Ronan's ears and shifted his arms so they were tucked along Ronan’s sides, his palms under Ronan's shoulders.

He was clinging to Ronan, nearly, digging his forehead and his ripped-up fingernails into Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan pressed a kiss into Adam’s hair and traced bands of sunlight over Adam’s back.

After a second, Ronan realized why Adam had moved his arms. Adam had shifted down Ronan’s body, his face level with the dip between Ronan’s collarbones, and that meant he could move his hips away from Ronan’s, press his dick against the mattress instead of between Ronan’s legs. Sneaky, Ronan thought, annoyed.

“Hey,” he said, and ran one hand up Adam’s spine, pushed his fingertips into Adam’s hair again and tugged. Adam rubbed his nose against Ronan’s collarbone, tried biting it, which was nice, but Ronan wasn’t about to be distracted.

“ _Hey_ ,” Ronan said again, more insistently, and Adam finally pushed one forearm against the mattress, so he was propped up enough to make eye contact.

He looked at Ronan, all inscrutable, like he thought expressionlessness was a defense. Ronan caught his eye. Slowly, so Adam could tell he meant it, Ronan slipped his fingertips under the elastic of Adam’s briefs.

Adam’s eyes fluttered closed and Ronan wanted to kiss the freckles on his eyelids. He wrapped one leg around Adam’s, then, spreading his thighs wide enough he felt a little ridiculous, and tilted his hips up. He kept rubbing at the skin just under the hem of Adam’s underwear.

Adam was frozen over him, eyebrows turned up in the middle and mouth open. Ronan fumbled his other hand into Adam’s sweats, over his briefs, spread out his hand over Adam’s ass and tugged Adam closer against him.

When Adam’s dick was hard and hot and right where Ronan wanted it, he tried rocking his hips up, pulled at Adam’s ass, tried to get Adam moving against him. Adam dropped his head like a doll with its strings cut, hard enough that his forehead knocked into Ronan’s. He shuddered. Adam’s breath feathered over Ronan’s lips.

Tentatively, Adam rolled his hips against Ronan. Ronan stuck his other hand down Adam’s sweats as a reward, hauled Adam against him, and Adam was so smart, Ronan thought, deeply pleased. It didn’t take Adam long before he figured out how to move, slow and kind of dirty, grinding his dick against Ronan’s pussy hard enough he could feel his boxers getting sticky.

 _Yeah_ , Ronan thought, and tilted his face up to slide his mouth against Adam’s. It was barely a kiss, mostly breathing against each other, sharing air.

"Yeah," Ronan said, or gasped, or breathed. 

“Jesus, Ronan,” Adam muttered finally, and Ronan moaned.

“Come on, Parrish,” he said, and then corrected himself, said “Adam,” instead, and felt Adam tremble above him, felt his hips buck out of the rhythm he’d set.

Ronan squeezed at Adam’s ass with both hands, tried to get Adam to do that again. He rubbed his hips up, impatient, while Adam was still gasping for breath.

“Okay,” Adam said, gathering himself, “okay, let’s —” and then his hand was on Ronan’s thigh, pressing Ronan’s knee back harder, and Adam was moving Ronan’s other thigh, too, holding his legs back and his thighs apart. Ronan felt horribly exposed, deeply glad that Adam was heavy on top of him, covering him up.

Adam moved his hips, short stabbing little motions that almost caught on Ronan’s hole, just barely pressed into him, pushed Ronan’s underwear just barely into his cunt, awkward and without any room to maneuver.

Adam made a frustrated noise, reached down where they were pressed together and ran his hand between them. He did something to adjust his dick, moved it inside his underwear so it wouldn’t catch against Ronan’s pussy anymore. Then Adam stroked himself, slow, like he'd gotten distracted by how good it felt. His hand was so close between them that Ronan could feel Adam’s knuckles brushing against his slit.

Ronan ground up against him and Adam’s eyelids fluttered shut. With great dignity, Adam removed his hand, went back to holding Ronan’s knee back far enough that Ronan felt a stretch, and pressed his dick back against Ronan. Like this, it was lying flat against Ronan’s pussy, hard and hot, and he stayed like that for a few seconds, bent to kiss Ronan all sweet like this wasn’t the dirtiest thing either of them had ever done.

Finally, Adam started moving again, dragging himself up and down, purposeful grinding thrusts, and Ronan went from zero to sixty in half a second flat. It had been good before, better than good, but this slide was perfect, Adam’s hips working and Ronan held open under him.

Ronan couldn’t think, scrabbled his hands against Adam’s ass where he could feel the muscle flexing, stuck his fingertips up the leg holes of Adam’s briefs, pulled on Adam’s underwear trying to direct him. He rocked up against Adam too fast, trying to get more, chase a little more friction, until Adam shivered, dug his hands into Ronan’s thigh and bit at his chin, hissing “would you _quit it_ , I’m about to—”

Ronan cut him off with a kiss, because the thought of Adam getting off lit him up white-hot all over. He didn’t stop entirely, just to be contrary, left his hands right where they were, but stopped bucking up and let Adam set the pace.

And he did, implacable, unbelievably even. He pulled out of the kiss to clench his jaw. Ronan had always loved to watch Adam concentrate.

“Jesus,” Ronan said, his voice coming out embarrassing and high-pitched, and Adam moaned and kissed him again, shoved his tongue against Ronan’s.

Ronan sucked on his tongue, and then bit it, because suddenly the head of Adam’s dick was right against Ronan’s, real friction, not just the tease of it like riding the seam of his jeans. Ronan shifted until he could feel Adam just right, fat and hot even through the fabric, jolting Ronan with every stroke, the rest of him holding Ronan open. Adam was sliding against him just right, and Ronan wanted to get their clothes off, wanted to _feel it_ , but even this much made him feel like he was unraveling.

It took more effort than Ronan felt it ought to, for him to keep his hips still, to let the drag build sweet and slow instead of trying to chase it. He curled his toes, did his best to hold onto Adam’s ass. Ronan let his head collapse against his pillows, shut his eyes and tried to breathe.

“Look at me,” Adam said, almost a mumble, voice strangled, but Ronan couldn't. He shook his head, left his eyes closed, and then tipped his chin up to rub the back of his head against the sheets. “Ronan,” Adam said, almost pleading, and Ronan said, “I’m close, keep —” even though it felt like that should be obvious. But Adam had missed it last time, so he gritted his teeth and got the words out, refused to be embarrassed by them.

Adam’s hips stuttered to a stop and Ronan almost cried. He kicked one foot, uselessly, swung it through the air and arched up through his chest and back, pressed against Adam’s low back with his forearms, trying to keep Adam against him, because Adam was trying to prop himself up. Ronan couldn’t stop him; Adam lifted his chest, which at least pressed his hips and dick down heavier against Ronan, rubbed their stomachs together, but he’d stopped _moving_.

Ronan was pretty sure he could feel a whine building up in his throat, so he shifted his hips, just enough to stop what had built up from draining away and keep the friction going, just a little. That got Adam to make a noise where everything else hadn’t. He didn’t start moving his hips again, though, so Ronan slitted open one eye to figure out what the holdup was.

Adam’s hair was falling over his forehead and into his eyes. Ronan felt a surge of affection for Adam’s stupid incredulous face, his mouth, bitten red, the crooked bridge of Adam’s nose, his dark eyes.

“Come on,” Ronan said, and pulled one hand out of Adam’s pants to run it slow up Adam’s back and watch — feel— the way he shivered, goosebumps prickling up on his arms. Ronan settled his hand on Adam’s neck and Adam’s hands tightened in Ronan’s shirt, against his shoulders.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Adam said, “fuck, you are so —” and he sounded aggravated, aggrieved, like he did when Ronan cut class or drove too fast or lent Adam his headphones and then played his music too loud, but he was smiling, bending to kiss Ronan, quick and wet. And then he was pulling at Ronan’s shirt, trying to get it off without taking his weight off Ronan for a second, and Ronan had to move his arms, try to help. They got hopelessly tangled anyway.

Adam pressed back down and started moving again when Ronan’s shirt was half-over his head, their stomachs pressed together, and then their chests, when Ronan managed to get his shirt off — he left it tangled around one arm, couldn’t be assed to get it the rest of the way off.

He got that arm around Adam, hand on his neck, dragged his face down so Ronan could kiss him, pant against his mouth and mumble encouragements while Adam gasped, and pushed his other hand back down Adam’s pants, under his underwear too, this time, Adam’s bare skin against his palm.

Both of them were sweating, their chests sticking together. Adam’s upper lip was salty when Ronan licked it. Adam was moving slower, now, clinging tight to Ronan. He wasn’t holding Ronan’s legs back anymore, so Ronan hitched them up higher around Adam’s waist himself, crossed his ankles in Adam’s low back and dug his heel against Adam’s ass and thigh, trying to get the right angle back. Adam was shifting against him like he was trying to climb inside Ronan, like he never wanted to let go.

Ronan rolled his hips up against Adam’s and there it was, that was it; he grunted, tried to set a rhythm, and Adam was working with him. Blood was rushing in Ronan’s head like the sea, and the sunlight was rippling over Adam’s back as they moved together.

Ronan tipped over easy, just like that, kept working through it while his mind went blank.

He rubbed his thumb over the skin at Adam’s low back, the dip where Adam’s spine met his ass, a little further down, almost into Adam’s crack. Adam _felt_ it, Ronan could tell, the way Adam pressed even closer and turned his face into Ronan’s shoulder. His hips stuttered and then slowed.

“C’mon,” Ronan said, finally, when he could talk again, when he’d uncurled a little and his stomach had stopped twitching. He rubbed his thumb over the top of Adam’s crack again, tightened his hips and rubbed himself against Adam’s length until Adam started thrusting again.

“Adam,” Ronan said, voice raspy, “come on, fuck me,” because he could feel Adam almost trembling against him, hoped Adam was close too. He’d been half-planning to say something else, to go somewhere with that sentence, but as it was, that was it, that was all it took: Adam let out a soft cry, and then dug his teeth into Ronan’s shoulder as he shook apart.

&&&&

Ronan held Adam through it, arms and legs still wrapped around him. Adam’s hips moved, and Ronan could maybe almost feel his dick twitching through his sweatpants. Mostly what Ronan could feel was how tightly Adam held him, how overwhelmed he was.

Adam was quiet, through it, which would have been disappointing if Ronan were physiologically capable of disappointment right then. Adam unstuck his teeth from Ronan’s shoulder right as Ronan wondered whether he was drawing blood. It stung. Adam sighed and pressed a kiss against the marks.

They lay there, Adam’s face pillowed into Ronan’s shoulder, sticky and stuck together and wrapped up in each other. Ronan’s sweat dried, prickling, making the sheets itch against his back. He wanted, not pressingly, but eventually, to change his boxers.

Adam was going to have to borrow more clothes, too. He was warm and drowsing against Ronan’s chest, heavier now than he had been when he was pressing down against Ronan on purpose. Ronan ran his hand through Adam’s hair and let his eyes go half-lidded, enjoying Adam, enjoying the sun. Ronan’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He ignored it.

They lay there like that until the sunlight moved: lighting up a constellation of moles on Adam’s shoulder, slipping fully off a crescent-shaped scar on Adam’s back. It might not have been the sun. It could easily have been Adam who moved, or Ronan shifting. But Ronan sighed, huge and deep enough that he could see the rise and fall echoed through Adam’s body.

Adam stirred. Ronan wondered but didn’t ask whether Adam had been asleep, or just resting. Adam woke, if he was waking, slowly, all small shifts and discontented noises. Ronan wished he could see Adam’s face, wondered if it looked different now. He wondered about the creases at the corner of Adam’s eyelids, the frown tucked into the corner of Adam’s mouth. Ronan hoped they had been swept away.

“Jesus,” Adam croaked, finally, as he ran one closed fist over his eyes, pressed a wet kiss into Ronan’s neck and tilted his hips away from Ronan. “I can’t believe you let me sleep like this.”

Ronan shrugged. Adam could feel it; he pressed another kiss into Ronan’s shoulder, where he’d bitten him.

Ronan could hear the grimace in Adam’s voice when he said, “Let me up.” 

Adam was moving already when he said it, though; Ronan wasn’t holding him down. Adam rolled off Ronan and staggered to his feet. He stretched, arms sprawled out, and then scratched his stomach and winced. Probably because his underwear was crusty.

Ronan was having a hard time accepting the mundane reality of the situation, because he had Adam standing shirtless and postcoital in his bedroom, and Ronan had made him like that, so he was finally allowing himself to look at Adam. At his nipples, his messy hair, the moles and freckles and scars on his chest, at the way Adam was running his hands over his face. At the crotch of his sweats, to see if he could find a wet spot.

And then Adam looked back at Ronan, still sprawled where Adam had left him. Ronan groped behind himself for the headboard and then pulled himself up to sitting, legs half-crossed and half-upright, on the bed.

Ronan wasn’t sure what to say. He nearly felt shy.

Adam bent and kissed him, his hand on Ronan’s cheek. Ronan leaned towards him.

It was slow, and tasted a little gross, both of them sour-mouthed post-nap, but Ronan could tell Adam was saying something with this: that he needed reassurance, and Ronan didn’t mind giving it. Anyway, maybe Ronan needed that, too. They kissed for long minutes, back and forth, moving together, until Ronan found himself standing, pressed against Adam with his arms around him. Holding him.

He rested his forehead against Adam’s, tugged the waistband of Adam’s sweats a little higher on his hip. Adam winced at the way that tugged at whatever sticky mess he’d made in his underwear, huffed a laugh and rubbed his crooked nose against Ronan’s. They kissed again.

Ronan’s phone buzzed again, loud and insistent, against the wood of his dresser.

“Probably Gansey,” Adam said. “Bet we’re late.”

Ronan shrugged. He kissed Adam again, and then said, “Nah.” 

Adam glanced at his watch. “Guess not,” he said, Henrietta in his vowels, “but I bet you we’re gonna be.”

Ronan made a disagreeable noise. Adam was still kissing at the corner of Ronan’s mouth. “It’s a twenty minute drive to town,” he said like that had ever mattered.

“Ten minutes,” Ronan protested. “I’ll take that bet. But I’m driving.”

Adam wrinkled his nose, and Ronan allowed, “But we have to change, first.”

Ronan knew that wasn’t what Adam was wrinkling his nose at — he was probably going to say something about leaving the Hondoyota at the barns, so Ronan cut him off.

“You smell,” Ronan added, which was true. Adam was sweaty. Ronan didn’t mind that smell, though. He liked it. It smelled like summer and hard work; it was part of Adam’s real smell, one of those things that were never replicable in dreams.

Adam made a face, wrinkling his nose, and stuck out his tongue. His arm was curled around Ronan, and he reached down to snap the band of Ronan’s boxers hard against his hipbone.

“I think we both need to change,” he said, and that was a completely true, value-neutral statement, but somehow it still left Ronan scarlet-faced and wordless.

Adam laughed, kissed Ronan and pulled away. He took Ronan’s phone off the dresser and slid the keyboard open. He held it so Ronan could see — the text had been from Gansey, _Running late, save us a table if you make it before us!_ — and Ronan grunted before heading to his vanity.

He grabbed the shirt he’d lent to Adam, grabbed another pair of boxers out of his underwear drawer and his third-cleanest pair of jeans off the floor, and went to the bathroom to wash up and change.

He’d ruined his boxers, obviously, but taking them off solved that, pretty much. He wadded them up to wipe between his legs and then tossed them in the corner of the room. He didn’t bother washing up properly, just rolled on deodorant and pulled on his change of clothes, tucking his nose into the neck of the shirt and wondering if something of Adam had clung to the fabric while he’d borrowed it. Probably not. He’d only had it on for a few minutes when Ronan had gotten him back out of it.

When he got back to his room, Adam was gone. Ronan heard the shower sputter on through the wall. Adam’s underwear and sweatpants were tucked over the edge of Ronan’s hamper. Ronan checked his phone. All Ronan’s outgoing texts were to Gansey’s number. The most recent had been sent in the last few minutes, like Adam and Gansey had texted back and forth a few times.

Ronan opened the most recent one, sent three minutes ago at 4:36. _ok c u there in 15!_

Ronan scoffed, but fondly. Adam was such a dirty cheater; they _would_ be late, now. He grabbed his phone, his leather jacket, and headed downstairs to wait for Adam.

&&&&

Adam didn’t push it with the shower; he took longer than Ronan had, to clean up, but he was downstairs in less than ten minutes.

Ronan stood up. Adam was wearing a pair of Ronan’s jeans and a stolen hoodie zipped up over his chest. Ronan liked that, felt vaguely satisfied at the thought that Adam was probably going to keep that sweatshirt. Ronan liked the thought that he wasn’t going to get it back.

Adam walked over to the car. Ronan’s jeans were a little too short for Adam, in the legs. He’d borrowed a pair of Ronan’s socks, too, blood-red and charcoal argyle poking out of Adam’s battered sneakers.

“Hey,” Adam said once he was standing next to Ronan. “You ready?”

Ronan looked at him. Adam shuffled his feet. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair was wet.

Ronan reached out and then left his hand hovering — he wasn’t sure what he’d meant to touch. He put his hand in Adam’s wet hair and ruffled it. Adam pressed his face into Ronan’s wrist.

“You gonna grab your shit outta the shitheap?” Ronan asked, jerking his jaw towards the Hondoyota.

“Um,” Adam said, and turned his face back towards Ronan. “My —?”

Ronan scowled, because Adam was just. _Lovely_ , a word Ronan would never confess to out loud, especially like this, all scrubbed-clean. It was pissing him off. Ronan could still remember what Adam looked like shirtless, he was going to have to remember that every time he looked at him from now on, Ronan was an _idiot_. What if he never got to do this again. The Father really should have mentioned that as a potential consequence of premarital sex; maybe Ronan would have listened.

Adam smiled back at him. It wasn’t a real smile, just Adam’s lips pressed together and his eyes just barely crinkling at the corner, but Ronan knew what it meant. Ronan’s scowl deepened and he pulled his hand away.

“Your books and shit,” Ronan said. Adam had been planning on staying over; he wouldn’t have committed that many work-free hours without at least a battered paperback for English class, or his copy of the common application as that deadline crept closer.

“Right,” Adam said, like he’d forgotten about school entirely. Ronan hid a smirk and tossed him his keys before going to let himself into the BMW.

Adam opened the passenger door as Ronan was putting the BMW into reverse.

“Get in, loser,” Ronan said, and Adam did, dropping his backpack into the footwell and a bundle of notebooks into the glove compartment before he shut the door.

The second he did, Ronan flung the Beemer into a flashy three-point turn. Adam wasn’t buckled up, the glove compartment wasn’t closed, and Ronan was driving over the grass at the sides of the drive. Adam whooped, and caught himself, hand flung up to grasp at the handle built into the roof. He laughed, his elbow digging into the window.

Ronan grinned back, and gunned the engine.

&&&&

They _were_ late, when Ronan pulled his BMW in next to the Pig, but not by much; his phone had buzzed in the cupholder with a text from Gansey just as Ronan was turning into the Nino’s lot.

Ronan had made the twenty minute drive from Singer’s Falls in eight and a half minutes, hurtling through curves to hear Adam holler and pound his fist against the roof, probably fucking up his suspension on the dirt and gravel country roads.

Adam was still laughing as he got out of the car, his hand on the open door while Ronan cut the engine. The cup holder buzzed again. Ronan ignored it, and pocketed his keys.

Adam grinned at Ronan over the BMW’s roof when Ronan unfolded himself from the driver’s seat. Ronan felt his mouth pulling into a smile despite himself, not a smirk or a grin but something small and mortifyingly sincere.

Once Ronan was around the car, Adam bumped against him from shoulder to elbow. Ronan ducked his head and tried to hide his smile, but Adam pulled at Ronan’s forearm, slid his hand around Ronan’s. He started walking, then, their joined hands dangling a little between them. Adam didn’t let go when he pushed the door to Nino’s open, either.

It wasn’t busy. About half the tables were empty. Most Aglionby traffic at Nino’s filled in on weekdays after class or athletics, or late nights during parties, not gloomy Saturday afternoons. Most of the JV soccer team was spread out over four booths against the windows; they’d probably had a game. Ronan nodded at Koh, who’d been intramural doubles partners with him freshman year, as Adam pulled him across the diner to their usual corner booth in Blue's section.

Gansey was already at the table, and Blue was sitting next to him. Ronan wasn’t sure if she was off work or if it was just dead enough she could take a few minutes. Cheng had been standing, talking to the soccer team, but Koh’s return nod had him hastening back to their table.

Ronan tried not to resent this, with mixed success. Adam was sitting next to him, though, pulling Ronan in against his warm side, with his arm over Ronan’s shoulders and his shin kicked out under Ronan’s calf, so Ronan focused on that.

Blue stood up and slid out of the booth. Henry took her seat, and Ronan eyed him suspiciously. He didn't trust the way Cheng brushed over Sargent’s low back as he squeezed past her, the way he braced a hand on Gansey’s shoulder before sitting. He kept his hands to himself once he was in the booth, at least, didn’t even reach out to steady her when Sargent squeezed back in.

There was more room on Ronan’s side of the table, the way he and Adam were curled together, but if Sargent wanted to teeter with half her ass falling off the edge of the booth just to be next to Cheng, that wasn’t Ronan’s business. Ronan let his eyes go half-lidded, jostled his shoulder a little more comfortably into Adam’s armpit.

Ronan didn’t pay much attention to the conversation. He ate six slices of Gansey’s large pizza by himself, suddenly starving the second the food made it to the table. Gansey finished off the last two before moving onto Cheng’s topping-heavy nightmare.

Adam had just ordered two pieces of something plain by the slice. Ronan rolled his eyes when Adam finished them off and ordered loaded fries, and kicked Blue under the table until she went to get them, threatening to report her to her manager until she went to put the order in.

When she came back with a tray, Ronan ate a few fries before nudging the cardboard boat at Adam. He’d intended for Adam to eat all of them, ordered them not quite how Adam liked them so Adam wouldn’t get stubborn-jawed about it, but that meant they were good, just the way Ronan liked them: spicy and salty and flavorful.

Adam dutifully took a few fries, making sure they were mostly coated with cheese, and Ronan rolled his eyes before picking all the jalapeños off and popping them in his mouth so Adam would be able to handle the hotness. He even let Adam put mayo on the fries without making fun of him.

Ronan kept himself busy supervising Adam, making sure he finished off the fries. He wished it was just them eating together, maybe Opal there as well, but this was nice too: conversation that didn’t matter washing over them, Adam’s socked foot rubbing against Ronan’s ankle, Ronan’s hand on Adam’s knee.

Adam dipped his fries into Gansey’s milkshake, to Gansey’s squawk; Ronan laughed, helpless, at Gansey’s outraged face and Adam’s deeply pleased one. He kept laughing right until Adam bumped the fries against Ronan’s teeth, and then wrinkled his nose. Gansey’s bright green mint smoothie wasn’t something Ronan wanted to put in his mouth.

Adam tilted his head at Ronan, _suit yourself_ , and squirted a little more mayo on his fries before popping them into his mouth. Ronan watched, revolted, and more than a little horrified to realize he didn’t even care. He still wanted to kiss Adam.

Adam smiled at him, ducked in and bumped his mouth against Ronan’s, hardly half a second of contact but it made Ronan fist his hand in Adam’s sweatshirt. Adam went right back to talking, but slid his arm around Ronan’s shoulders a little more securely. Ronan was profoundly overwhelmed. He didn’t know what he was feeling.

Cheng caught Ronan’s eye across the table, but he didn’t do something awful and over-the-top, ask if they’d made up or do any eyebrow-waggling. Cheng just smiled at him, maybe a little wistful. Ronan looked away.

&&&&

They didn’t stay much longer, after that. Sargent’s shift was over, no point hanging around. Ronan dug a twenty out of his pocket, left it on the table alongside Adam’s crumpled handful of dollar bills and Gansey and Cheng’s paired Visas.

Adam let go of Ronan’s elbow to pull Gansey aside. Ronan kept an eye on them while he asked Blue about Opal, whether she could stay the night at Fox Way without inspiring one of Sargent’s moms to capricious capricide. Adam didn’t like having Opal at St. Agnes, which was admittedly small enough without adding an excitable, homework-eating psychopomp to the space.

And maybe Ronan wanted to sleep over with Adam, just the two of them. So sue him.

“That’s fine,” Blue said. “Gwenllian wanted to keep her overnight anyway, last I checked, she’s the only one who’ll eat her cooking.”

Ronan clapped Blue on the shoulder in thanks, ignored her pointed, “But you owe me,” and let Cheng get back to monopolizing her. Gansey and Adam seemed to be settling something as well, Gansey offering his closed fist for Adam to nudge against his own.

Adam looked up as he was doing so, and tilted his head at Ronan. _You wanna get out of here?_

Ronan did.

&&&&

The drive to St. Agnes wasn’t long, just a few blocks; it was more about moving the car than it was about _driving_. Ronan parked in Adam’s tucked-away spot behind the church, instead of out front where he usually left his car.

It wasn’t late, not _late_ , but the sky was starting to tint orange at the edges as Ronan got out of the car. Adam took a few more rummaging seconds collecting his things before joining him and letting them into the building. Ronan had his own key, of course, but somehow it felt right to wait for Adam, today.

They headed up the stairs in silence, Ronan treading on Adam’s heels. When Adam finally unlocked the door to his room and dropped his things by the door, he turned and caught Ronan in his arms and kissed him, his keys still dangling from his hand, the door to the staircase still open.

Adam didn’t stop kissing him, slow and lingering and earnest. Not while they worked out how to get the door closed behind them, not while Adam tried to get his keys hung onto the hook by the door.

Ronan leaned his weight against Adam, got his back against the door the second it was shut, and Adam wound his arm around Ronan. Adam stopped groping one-handed around the wall with his keys in hand, trying to find the hook and just dropped them. They hit the floor with a jingle. Ronan rested his hands against Adam’s hips, pressed him back against the door and applied his mouth to Adam’s neck.

“Fuck,” Adam said, breathy and breathless, his arm still pressed into Ronan’s back, holding him close and his other hand palming over Ronan’s bicep. Ronan sucked a mark into Adam’s neck where he’d bitten at him earlier, tongue and teeth working. The floorboards creaked.

Adam let out a whine Ronan was going to be hearing in his dreams for — for the rest of his life, probably, and while Ronan was resting his forehead against Adam’s shoulder to catch his breath, Adam pushed up the back of Ronan’s shirt, spread his gorgeous hands out over Ronan’s tattoo.

Ronan’s entire world dipped dizzily. He clung to Adam, turned his face just enough that he could kiss clumsily at Adam’s throat even though he ended up with the string of Adam’s hoodie in his mouth.

Adam petted over Ronan’s back, his hands moving slowly. Ronan took a shuddering breath and kissed Adam’s throat again, did his best to stand upright, and Adam pulled his hands away from Ronan so quickly he could feel cold negatives imprints where Adam’s hands had been.

“Sorry,” Adam said, and Ronan let go of Adam’s hips. Ronan didn’t know what Adam had to be sorry for, so he ignored it.

He pressed another kiss to Adam’s mouth and pulled away to stand.

“Should we talk about this?” Adam said, uncertain, like he’d heard that asked somewhere else and wasn’t sure if it applied here. Ronan rolled his eyes.

“Do your homework,” he said, and kicked his shoes off before dropping into Adam’s bed.

He wanted to get in an hour or so's nap before nightfall proper. Ronan slept better through the night if he could dream intentionally, first, throughout the day, and he’d skipped this morning, and hadn't been able to sleep in the afternoon, either. He wanted to investigate the gestating form of newly-sprouting new Cabeswater. He should check in on Opal, if she was asleep, too.

Adam swallowed. Ronan couldn’t see him — he’d curled up with his back to the room — but he could hear it. Adam sighed, then, and bent to pick up his things. Ronan heard the little jingle that meant he’d hung his keys up properly.

The floorboards creaked as Adam walked past Ronan to his desk, but he hesitated for a moment, halfway across the room.

Ronan felt the mattress dip, briefly, and then Adam’s hand was on his shoulder, and Adam’s lips were pressed against the curve of his neck. Ronan reached his hand up to cover Adam’s.

Adam pulled away, then, and out of the bed. He dragged out his desk chair and clicked on his desk lamp and got to work. Ronan drowsed off still feeling Adam’s lips burning hot against his neck.

&&&&

Ronan’s dreams were uneventful. Opal wasn’t asleep, so he was alone; he wandered the misty nothingscape that had characterized his dreams since Cabeswater’s destruction, following speckles of light and trying not to tread on any dream saplings.

He woke with a floating light folded into his palm, when Adam climbed back into bed. It was thoroughly dark out. The window was propped open and he could hear nighttime noises, occasional traffic from the road outside the church. Adam had moved his lamp under the desk at some point, bathing the room in a soft glow, banded with shadows.

Adam was curled onto his side, facing Ronan. Ronan couldn’t quite bear to look at him yet. Instead, Ronan let go of his light, and it bobbed up to the crooked ceiling. He exhaled.

“That’s gonna be a pain in the ass to get back down,” he said, because someone had to say something.

“Ronan,” Adam said. He put his hand on Ronan’s stomach, where his shirt had ridden up in his sleep.

Ronan sucked in a sharp breath, and looked at Adam.

“Earlier,” Adam said, and his eyebrows were serious. Ronan wasn't going to be able to avoid talking about this. Ronan resigned himself to the worst conversation since Gansey’s attempts to make him talk about the hospital.

Adam must have been able to see the trepidation on his face. He rubbed his hand over Ronan’s stomach and curled towards him.

“I just want to know,” Adam said, like he’d been practicing the words. “That was okay, right?”

Ronan ducked his head. Adam didn’t move his hand or pull away. Ronan said, “Obviously,” and hoped, without much conviction, that Adam would accept this without further discussion.

No such luck.

“It’s just,” Adam said, and apparently those were the only words he’d rehearsed, because his ears were pink. “We, uh. That was sex? And I thought you would want to. I mean. This is your _church_. I thought you’d want to wait.”

Adam was _losing_ it. Ronan was mesmerized.

Ronan said, “Well, you could have asked,” because Adam could have. Adam sucked his lower lip into his mouth and, appallingly, nodded.

Ronan maintained eye contact and then hit Adam in the face with his pillow. Adam sputtered and pulled it away from Ronan to hold it against his chest.

“We had sex already,” Ronan said, almost hissing, because it was still mortifying that Adam just _hadn’t noticed_. “In the car. That was sex too.”

Adam was smart. Ronan could see realization filtering over his face. He had to be putting together the pieces: how Ronan had come apart under him, why Ronan had been avoiding him, how and when Ronan had managed to get over it, the whole deal. The way Ronan had gone over things when he realized Adam thought he’d hurt Ronan: why Adam had refused to touch him, why he was being all awkward about it.

“Oh my god,” Adam said.

Ronan said, “I couldn’t figure out why you got all weird about it.” 

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Adam said, agonized.

“Obviously I want to,” Ronan said, smugly, just to be a shithead. Adam hated being the last person to figure something out.

Adam tried to smother him with the pillow.

Ronan pushed him off. They wrestled for several minutes, like that, easily; they only stopped when Ronan fell out of the bed and had to climb back in along Adam’s side.

Ronan said, laughing, like it was casual, “You don’t have to be so gentle with me.” Adam should know that. But Ronan didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Adam said, like it was casual, “Well, someone should be.” It was obvious he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, either.

If Ronan’s attempt had been that transparent, he was embarrassed for both of them.

They stared away from each other in blushing silence for a good half-minute. Ronan said, “I don’t like it when I’m the only person who’s fucking up.” He felt scraped raw; immediately, immediately, all he could think was that saying that had been a mistake, that he should take it back.

“You’re not fucking up,” Adam said, voice frustrated. Ronan glanced at him. He couldn’t tell whether Adam was frustrated with Ronan or just with himself. Probably with himself.

“You’re not either,” Ronan said, because Adam beating up on himself about the sex thing had been funny for about a minute, but not if he really thought he was doing this wrong. Adam was a great boyfriend. “I’m just saying, okay? You can try shit. I don’t wanna sit around and talk and get everything signed in triplicate first.”

Adam said, “I just wanna do it right.”

“What’s _it_ ,” Ronan snapped, trying not to be mortified.

Adam moved so he was sitting on his knees. He reached out and touched Ronan’s face and Ronan bent his head to kiss Adam’s palm before he even thought about it. When he looked back at Adam, his eyes were bright and he was blushing under his freckles. Adam bit his lip.

“Whatever you want,” Adam said.

&&&&

“Oh,” Ronan said. He licked his lips and Adam pulled his hand back.

“There’s — there _is_ something I’d like to try,” Adam said, still bright red. He was talking like something out of Health class. Probably that was where he’d gotten the phrase. The fucking intonation. If Aglionby sexual health pamphlets could talk.

“What’s that,” Ronan said.

“Oral sex?” Adam said, and he was trying _so_ hard not to let it sound like a question.

Ronan’s mouth went dry. He swallowed.

“Fuck,” he said. “You want me to blow you?”

“No,” Adam said, too quickly, and Ronan froze where he’d been reaching towards Adam.

“No, no,” Adam added, hastily, grabbing Ronan’s wrist. “God, I — _Ronan_. Yeah, I’m… I’ve definitely. Thought about that. But I meant, uh.”

Ronan glowered at Adam, suspicious, but not willing to pull his arm away. “What,” he said, clipped.

“I mean I want to go down on you,” Adam said.

Ronan stared at him.

“Bullshit,” Ronan said, accusatory.

Adam huffed, and squeezed Ronan’s wrist. “No.”

Ronan pulled his knees up against his chest. He left his wrist in Adam’s hand, but wrapped his other arm around his legs. “Since when,” Ronan said, suspicious. His ears were hot and he was glaring at Adam.

Adam glared back. He squeezed Ronan’s wrist. “What do you want me to say here,” Adam snapped. Ronan was relieved. He liked tenderness with Adam better when they were both doing a shitty job at it. “That I wanted to suck your dick to shut you up back when I still couldn’t stand you?”

Heat flushed through Ronan. He swallowed. “If that’s what you want,” he said, “I think you’re gonna be disappointed.”

Adam rubbed his thumb over Ronan’s pulse.

“You might have noticed,” Adam said. “But I like it when you’re an asshole.” Ronan scowled, and Adam lifted Ronan’s wrist to his mouth. Ronan still wanted to protest, but Adam’s mouth was pressed against Ronan’s scraped knuckles.

“I don’t wanna shut you up anymore,” Adam said. His lips were moving against Ronan’s hand. “But.”

“But?” Ronan said. Adam squeezed his fingers and smiled.

&&&&

Honestly, Ronan hadn’t needed much convincing after that. He fumbled his way out of his clothes while Adam pulled his shirt off. Adam’s apartment was too small for both of them to flail at the same time, standing as close as they were. Ronan bumped against Adam’s elbows, his knees.

Now he was on lying naked his back in Adam’s bed. Ronan stared resolutely at the ceiling. He refused to feel weird about this.

This just felt off, somehow. He’d liked it better when sex had just sort of _happened_ to him. This wasn’t as bad as scheduling date night, but it was close. And anyway, sex wasn’t supposed to be about selfish gratification. It was supposed to be mutual.

“We could do something else,” he said. “I mean, I could. For you.”

“Do you not want me to?” Adam asked, and his hand stopped moving. Ronan struggled up to his elbows to glare at him.

“Did I fucking say that?” he snapped. “This was your idea. It’s just _weird_.”

“It’s not weird,” Adam said, and Ronan rolled his eyes so hard it ached a little.

“You don’t need to teach me to love my body whatever. Just. Quit fucking staring,” he said.

Adam rubbed two fingers along Ronan’s dick a little, almost pinching it. Ronan squirmed.

“You want me to hurry up?” Adam murmured, and Ronan hated himself for loving Adam’s low voice, the way it crawled into his spine. He threw his head back and shuddered.

“Yeah,” Ronan said. His voice was rough. “Fuckin — yeah, Parrish, put your mouth on me.”

Adam did. Ronan shifted his weight.

He couldn’t really feel much. Just warmth, the vague sensation of being touched, Adam’s long fingers in a V, splitting his pussy open. But he couldn’t really feel Adam’s mouth, or his tongue.

Ronan didn’t want Adam’s fingers there, but at least he could _feel_ them. Ronan reached down and ran his hand through Adam’s hair, just for something to do. He shifted again and heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, and he sounded irritated. Ronan’s heart thumped. “Am I boring you?” Adam asked. Ronan grinned at him, or at least showed his teeth.

“Maybe,” he said. Adam frowned at him, the little twitching downturn at the corner of his mouth that meant he was really upset and trying to swallow a more upset expression.

“It’s not — right?” Adam said. Ronan shrugged.

“The fuck would I know,” Ronan said. “Couldn’t really — feel anything. Though.”

Adam frowned, and his face did a problem-solving thing. Ronan didn’t want to be looked at like a faulty carburetor. He shifted his weight a little, so he could hit Adam with a pillow if it stayed weird and Adam got all fixated on _fixing_ it. Ronan wasn't broken.

Instead, Adam did something and suddenly his mouth was soft and wet and hot and pressed right into Ronan, _sucking_ at his lips, at his dick, and Ronan yelped and accidentally kicked Adam out of the bed.

Adam pulled himself up to clamber back into bed. Ronan stared at him, wide-eyed. Adam wiped his mouth, and leaned up to press a kiss against Ronan’s.

“Should we just give up on this?” Adam said. He said it easily, like his ego wasn’t pinned on the answer. Like they’d work something out.

Ronan’s ears were burning. He shook his head, and spread his legs again.

Ronan would put up with embarrassment a lot worse than this if it meant Adam would smile like that. Adam slid down Ronan’s body and nuzzled at Ronan’s hipbone. Ronan hitched his hips up. Adam was super into foreplay, apparently; now wasn’t the time.

“Alright, alright,” Adam said, “hold your horses,” and he pressed the flat of his tongue against Ronan’s clit and then licked lower, leaned his face into Ronan like he was trying to bury himself in him.

Ronan felt his breath hitch. Adam’s hands were wrapped around his thighs so his legs wouldn’t kick out again. Adam’s tongue was, it was _inside_ him, Adam wasn’t being gentle at _all_. Ronan swore and rolled his hips into Adam’s face.

Adam moaned. Like he liked it, like he _wanted_ to be where he was. One of Adam’s fingertips was teasing at Ronan's slit. Ronan didn’t know what to do. He tugged at Adam’s hair.

“Adam,” he said. “Adam.”

Adam pulled his face away. His mouth was a little shiny. He licked his lips. Ronan had no idea why he’d tugged at him, tried to get his attention. He just stared.

“Yeah?” Adam asked, and pressed a kiss into the inside of Ronan’s thigh. Ronan blinked hard, took a shuddering breath, and opened his eyes again. Adam’s finger was teasing at Ronan, nearly pushing in.

Adam wasn’t looking at Ronan’s face. He was looking — Ronan was suddenly, crashingly aware of where Adam’s fingers were, where Adam’s mouth had just been.

“No,” Ronan snapped, scrambling up the bed. “Did I say you could do that?” He pressed his thighs together and refused to think about the fact that he could feel Adam’s absence. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

Adam wiped his dirty hand over his mouth; Ronan didn’t know if that was supposed to actually clean either part or if it was just a nervous gesture. Adam wiped his hand on the sheets while Ronan was wondering, and put his hand on Ronan’s bony knee.

“I thought you wanted me to do things without asking,” Adam said, and he didn’t sound like Ronan was being unreasonable, which he was. Adam just sounded frustrated, like he was blaming himself for misunderstanding, like he was the one who’d done something wrong.

“It’s fine,” Ronan said, grudging. “Just not that.”

Adam started to say, “Okay,” all earnest, and if Ronan had wanted this much strained and sincere conversation he’d be in bed with Gansey. He let Adam feel him move his knee, where he was swinging his thigh back open. His heart was hammering.

“More?” Adam asked, and Ronan scowled at him, planning to sit in silence until Adam got back to it. Adam bent his head, instead. He kissed that soft tender space at the back of Ronan’s knee, his barely-there stubble a reminder that Ronan had always been a little ticklish.

Ronan gasped a swear, clenched his fist in Adam’s sheets. Adam bit at the tendons in his knee before going back to kissing the dip behind his knee, and Ronan’s hips bucked, his foot swung out. He hadn’t known he was sensitive there. Not like that.

He could feel Parrish smile against his thigh, and do it again; that time, even expecting it, Ronan cried out. Adam sucked a mark into the back of Ronan’s knee, absurd and electric, and Ronan hated it, loved it, half-sobbed.

He reached down to pull Adam’s hair, to tug his mouth up Ronan’s leg, get Adam back where he wanted him, but Adam wouldn’t move. Adam sucked another kiss into the back of Ronan’s thigh, a little higher up: less overwhelmingly sensitive but overwhelming nonetheless.

Ronan could still feel Adam smiling.

Adam moved back down, and he’d shifted between Ronan’s legs so he could hold Ronan’s calf over his shoulder and kiss the back of his knee some more, hold Ronan’s other leg down so he couldn’t rabbit-kick Adam off him, overwhelmed, and Ronan was swearing steadily now, tugging at Adam’s hair.

“Fuck you, Parrish” he spat, finally, when he could feel his pulse beating between his legs. “Fuck you, put it _back_ —”

Adam did. He used his whole mouth, his lips, a lot more than Ronan expected. Ronan shuddered through an orgasm, an easy one, one that wasn’t going to put the stop to the proceedings, and felt Adam moan against him, lick harder and swear. Ronan didn’t want him to stop.

Ronan didn’t watch a lot of porn. It made him feel guilty instead of getting him hot, mostly, and on top of that it was was hard enough to find gay porn that didn’t make him feel weird about his body. Sometimes he watched straight shit, but that was even more of a crapshoot than the gay stuff. Anyway, oral like this was always performative, all lingering shots of tongues, not whatever Adam was doing, sucking at his pussy and pressing his whole face into Ronan, moving up to lick at Ronan’s clit before moving back down.

He hadn’t thought he’d like it, and he was surprised to find he did.

Adam seemed to like it, too, and Ronan wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. It was nice. That was what he wanted. But this wasn't how he'd wanted it, or imagined it.

“Parrish,” Ronan said, panting. He pulled at Adam’s hair until Adam looked up at him.

Adam licked his lips. He kissed Ronan’s thigh again. Ronan swallowed.

“Don't get all fancy, okay?” Ronan said. He wasn't sure he was averse to fancy, but he couldn't fucking handle it. He could handle the thought of Adam shirtless, barely; Adam wanting to have sex with him, maybe; getting to have Adam like this, almost not at all. Adam making out with his cunt was so far beyond what Ronan was prepared to deal with that it was making his brain shut down.

Adam frowned. “How should I —” and Ronan hated this. Sex was supposed to be intuitive. Ronan had never had a hard time communicating with his body before.

“Suck my dick,” he said, roughly. “And don't — no fingers.”

Adam nodded like Ronan had just given him vital information. He went back at it.

He was still kissing Ronan more than sucking him. That was alright. He was rubbing his lips and tongue over Ronan, the tips of his fingers against Ronan's hole but not pushing in.

Ronan pulled harder at Adam’s hair, ran his hand down the back of Adam’s neck to hold onto it. “Suck me,” he said. “Come on, Adam.”

Adam finally sealed his lips around Ronan’s dick and sucked. Ronan yelped and scrambled at Adam’s neck. Adam pressed closer clumsily. His mouth was wet and hot. His teeth grazed over Ronan.

“Fuck,” Ronan said. “Fuck, yeah, use your teeth —” and then Adam was pulling off, easing off the suction to lick all over Ronan’s dick, to kiss it. Ronan whined.

Adam rubbed his fingers along Ronan’s slit for a second. “You’re wetter than I thought you’d be,” Adam said, and Ronan heaved at his hair, trying to get Adam’s mouth back on him.

“Seriously?” Ronan hissed, when Adam stayed right where he was, like he wanted to _talk_ about this. “ _Now_?”

Ronan leaned up on one elbow. Adam was sprawled between his thighs, his legs hanging off the end of the bed. Adam looked up at Ronan and caught his eye, and then very intentionally licked over Ronan’s clit. Ronan felt goosebumps prickling up over his neck, a blush rushing down over his spine and chest at the same time.

He tried to look away but Adam reached up to tug at his arm. Ronan held his gaze.

Adam moved his mouth to suck a dark mark into Ronan’s thigh. Ronan couldn’t look away from Adam’s sandy head bent between his legs.

He moved from Ronan’s inner thigh to his hipbone and teased his fingers over Ronan’s cunt again. Ronan thought about protesting, but then Adam dug his teeth into Ronan’s hipbone as he sucked. Ronan shivered, and tugged half-heartedly at one of Adam’s big ears.

Adam’s mouth came off Ronan’s skin with a filthy wet noise. Ronan lost his train of thought. He stared at Adam’s mouth. His lips were pink and his mouth was shiny all the way down to his chin.

Adam shifted his weight onto his elbows and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. Ronan was still staring at him. It should have been weird, just staring at Adam, but Parrish was right here, had Ronan spread out in front of him.Wanted him right where he was.

Adam moved his fingers back down and rubbed them against Ronan’s pussy. He didn’t push them in but Ronan still tensed.

“Ronan,” Adam said. “I wanna get you off,” and Ronan didn’t know what to say.

“You did,” Ronan said, finally, and Adam grinned at him, a bright flash of teeth. Adam pinched Ronan’s clit and Ronan’s muscles spasmed. He threw his head back and swore.

Adam said, “Again, then. I wanna —” and Ronan didn’t care, couldn’t listen. He wanted Adam’s mouth back. He wanted Adam to stop suggesting, teasing at fingers. He wanted to pull Adam’s hair. He wanted to take his own turn at this, maybe suck Adam off; he was already worked up enough that he thought that alone might do it for him.

And then Adam moved his fingers down, still looking at Ronan, until they were rubbing against his asshole. Ronan’s jaw dropped a little.

“You said no fingers,” Adam said, and he was blushing too, at least. “But I did some reading,” and Ronan wanted to hit him with a pillow, something, anything, so Adam wouldn’t tell him about all the research he’d done in order to have sex with Ronan.

“There’s fine,” Ronan said, as soon as he could get his mouth working. “Just —” and then Adam tried to push his fingers in just a little sticky from Ronan’s pussy. Ronan squirmed.

“Don’t be fucking gross,” Ronan said. “That’s not gonna be — just use lube. Where’s your —” and he rolled over to grope around on Adam’s nightstand. He had lube there, not just the tub of hand lotion Ronan had given him, which had to be empty by now. There was a tube of something. Ronan grabbed for it.

Adam’s hand feathered over Ronan’s side, his palm against Ronan’s tattoo. Ronan looked over his shoulder.

Adam had edged up the bed to kneel between Ronan’s thighs, or maybe half-straddle them. The important thing was that he was bending over to kiss the nape of Ronan’s neck, and then down to his shoulders, his spine. Adam’s thumb rubbed over the curve of Ronan’s ribs. Adam’s mouth was very wet.

“Uh,” Ronan said, and Adam scraped his teeth over a dark whorl on Ronan’s shoulderblade and he forgot how to think.

Ronan settled. One hand on Adam’s headboard, one elbow braced against the mattress. Adam licked and kissed at Ronan’s spine, the middle of his back, the middle of his tattoo.

“Sorry,” Adam said, and and bit at the lowest knob of Ronan’s spine, right where his spine turned into a dip in his back. He licked there, too, and said, “Sorry,” again. “I’m getting distracted,” Adam said.

“Really not complaining,” Ronan said, and he could hear how raw his voice was, how wanting. Maybe Adam could hear it too. He bit at the soft skin just under Ronan’s ribs and Ronan felt his muscles jump. He didn’t gasp.

“You’re distracting,” Adam said, which was a terrible line, but Ronan didn’t give a shit. It was really working for him. Adam really worked for him, in general.

Adam’s hand was on Ronan’s ass, squeezing, pulling one cheek aside a little to spread Ronan open. He was touching Ronan, too, running his other hand all over Ronan’s tattoo, Adam’s fingertips rough over the skin.

Ronan’s breath was hitching. He kept forgetting to breathe, sucking in air and holding it until Adam did something new and then letting out little startled almost-noises. Adam seemed to like that. Ronan could feel him smiling, letting out little pleased hums, as he worked his way down Ronan’s back.

Ronan shifted his hips, rubbing them against nothing, just moving for its own sake, because he was so turned on he felt like all his skin was transparent. Adam squeezed his ass again and licked the dimples of Ronan’s low back, where his tattoo ended, and then he licked lower.

Ronan tensed, all over, and then curled his toes. Adam rubbed his fingertips against Ronan’s asshole, and then his _tongue_ , and Ronan yelped, “What the damn Christ, Parrish,” as he was rolling over, knocking his head into the low ceiling.

Adam frowned at him, and wiped his mouth again. “So, not that,” he said, like he was trying to joke about it. Ronan scowled at him.

“You can’t just —” and Adam talked over him to say, “You told me I was supposed to try things and now you’re getting mad at me for —”

They glared at each other, uselessly. It was hard to maintain a glare when Adam was naked, freckled all over, dark cock bobbing between his legs, and they were in bed together. But Ronan did his best.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Ronan said, finally, crossing his arms over his chest. “That shit’s — I mean,” and then he swallowed, because it wasn’t nasty, he couldn’t say that, he wasn’t going to lie.

It was inventive and filthy and exactly what he should have expected from Adam in bed even if he’d never thought of it himself. He wasn’t opposed; he didn’t want to make Adam think he was just because he’d been startled.

Instead, Ronan said, “I haven’t showered in like three days,” and stared at the ceiling, where his dream-light was still bobbing along. Adam laughed.

"Gross," he murmured, and bent forward to press his mouth into Ronan’s. Ronan had to bat him away, three fingers pressed against Adam’s jaw to redirect him.

“I’m not fucking kissing you until you’ve washed your mouth,” Ronan said. Adam laughed again.

“You think I’m joking?” Ronan said, grouchy. He let Adam press his forehead against Ronan’s temple, though, and he let Adam fold one of Ronan’s hands into his, too, fingers interlaced and resting against Ronan’s stomach.

Adam ducked his face in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Ronan’s mouth and darted away, laughing, before Ronan could shove at him.

“ _Gross_ ,” Ronan said. “I’m not fucking kidding, go brush your teeth, what the hell is wrong with you,” but he was smiling as he said it. Adam was already climbing out of bed to go brush his teeth naked with the bathroom door open.

&&&&

Ronan watched him go and then got out of bed to follow him. He stood behind Adam as Adam was gargling with some off-brand Listerine, wrapped an arm around Adam’s stomach, careful not to brush against his dick, stood spooning behind him. He put his chin on Adam’s shoulder to watch his face in the mirror. Adam spat into the sink.

“You should shower,” Adam said. Ronan rolled his eyes but pulled away. It was late enough, the church abandoned, that the water would at least be tepid. Ronan climbed in and squirted some of Adam’s body wash into his hand. The bottle’s label said it was Suave and strawberry-scented, but the gunk Ronan had cupped in his palm mostly smelled like the stuff Blue put in her hair, coconutty, and maybe something earthy and herbal underneath.

Ronan said, “What the hell is your _body wash_ ,” through the shower curtain.

Adam was brushing his teeth. Ronan gave up inspecting it and just used it, since Adam had presumably been using it for a little while and it hadn’t hurt him yet. He rubbed some into his scalp as makeshift shampoo, because it was the only bottle in Adam’s shower and Adam probably used it for everything, too. It wasn’t the same thing Blue used on her hair; it definitely lathered, there was soap in it. Weird.

Adam spat into the sink, but his voice was still toothpastey when he responded.

“Opal made it with Blue and Orla,” he said. “At Fox Way. I think they were worried she’d eat it if they let her keep any.”

Ronan grunted, and reached between his legs. He didn’t have a washcloth here; he was doing his best to scrub himself clean anyway.

Adam gargled again. Ronan was thinking about nothing, staring at the shower’s dials and letting the water wash his skull clean and getting a little zoned out washing between his legs, rubbing soapy fingers over his asshole, just letting his fingertips press against himself.

The shower curtain rustled. Adam was climbing into the shower behind him. It really wasn’t big enough for two people.

Adam pressed right up against Ronan, kissing his soapy neck, pressing his dick against Ronan’s ass and hip as Ronan was turning to face him.

“Jesus,” Ronan said, grumbling and pleased. “The hell is this, your third shower _today_?”

“Ronan,” Adam said, ignoring him. His voice was urgent, like Ronan was the only thing he could think about, like he couldn’t keep his hands from squeezing at Ronan’s arms, like he couldn’t pull away from Ronan for one second. He kissed Ronan’s neck again, and then his shoulder. Ronan turned so his back was facing the spray and put his hand on Adam’s shoulder.

Adam was wild-eyed. He kissed Ronan like he was drowning, dug his fingernails into Ronan’s biceps, bit at Ronan’s lower lip until it tingled.

“Relax,” Ronan said, embarrassed and pleased to be the subject of Adam’s focus like this. He was mumbling into Adam’s mouth.

“Ronan,” Adam said again. “Let me. I just want to do what you like.” His hands were moving restlessly up and down Ronan’s side, stroking from his hipbone to his ribs and back down, over Ronan’s arm, over the backs of his shoulders and the curling edges of Ronan’s tattoo.

Adam was fully hard, his dick against Ronan’s stomach and hips and thigh. He wasn’t grinding against Ronan but he wasn’t trying to keep it away, either. Ronan shivered. The water was going cold against his back and Adam was hot against him, his hands searing against Ronan’s clammy skin. Adam reached behind him to shut off the water and went to his knees. He pressed a kiss just under Ronan’s navel and Ronan staggered backwards, banged his elbow hard enough into the shower wall that it cracked a tile.

“Shit,” Ronan said.

Adam was standing, pulling himself to his feet. “That was already cracked,” he said. Ronan didn’t care about the tile.

“Uh,” Ronan said, awkwardly, because Adam Parrish on his knees was something Ronan would very much like to see again.

“Shower was a stupid idea,” Adam said. “Just. Ronan. Come on,” he said, and he sounded _agonized_. He was tugging at Ronan’s hand, pulling him out of the shower and back across his apartment to bed.

Ronan followed him, and pulled Adam down into the bed. Adam curled in next to him. Both of them were damp — Ronan hadn’t toweled off at all after his shower, and Adam had left dripping footprints of his own on the way back to bed. Adam didn’t seem to care. He was rubbing his dick against Ronan’s hip, leisurely, leaving wet marks that might just as easily have come from the shower, and kissing Ronan’s mouth.

Ronan rubbed his hand over Adam’s side, dragged his fingertips between Adam’s ribs to feel him shiver. Adam was biting Ronan, holding him just the right edge of too tight, kissing like he wanted to savage Ronan.

Ronan slowed it down, sucked at Adam’s tongue and pushed his tongue into Adam’s mouth and cupped the back of Adam’s head with one palm. He was overwhelmed and felt soft all over. Not delicate. Adam wasn’t treating him like he thought Ronan would shatter. 

Ronan felt ripe, overripe, like every touch was obvious. Like Adam was leaving bruises behind everywhere they were touching.

Ronan reached down between them and got his hand around Adam’s dick.

It was hard, and it wasn't. Touching it was easy; Ronan wanted to touch it, so he did. He’d seen it — earlier he’d _looked_ at Adam’s dick and managed not to immediately get his hands or his mouth on it. He deserved to try it. Adam deserved this, deserved someone touching him. But Adam was stiff in his hand, against his palm, rubbing over the insides of Ronan's fingers.

Adam moaned into his mouth. Ronan wasn't doing a great job, he could tell, but it didn’t take much. Adam’s hands tightened on Ronan’s arms when he rubbed his thumb into the slit, when he squeezed a little too hard on the upstroke. Ronan’s ears were burning; he was so dizzy that it felt like the world was sliding away from underneath him even though the two of them were horizontal. It only took a few strokes before Adam was trembling and panting, pulling out of the kiss to dig his teeth into his own knuckles and stifle a shout.

He mostly came on Ronan’s stomach and on the sheets between them. “Fuck,” Ronan said, incendiary. He licked what there was off his fingers while Adam was still panting hard, breathing through his nose with his eyes screwed shut and his knuckles nearly bleeding.

Ronan hadn’t watched Adam’s face when he came. He should have. He wiped his hand off on the sheets over Adam’s shoulder, where they were less messy, and then tugged at Adam’s hand. Then he squeezed at Adam’s jaw, half-joking, but at least it got Adam to open his mouth enough that Ronan could pull his hand away, press kisses into the half-moon of Adam’s bitemarks.

Adam opened his eyes. “Sorry,” he said.

“Shut up,” Ronan said, if Adam was going to be an idiot about this. Adam’s breathing was still unsteady and too deep. Ronan pulled Adam in against his chest.

“God,” Adam said. He shut his eyes again. Ronan settled his arms around Adam, rubbed his chin against Adam’s hair. Adam’s bad ear was resting lightly against Ronan’s throat. It was, in all honesty, extremely uncomfortable. Ronan wouldn’t move for the world.

Adam squirmed. “Okay,” he said then. “Okay, let me — I can try something?”

He pushed himself mostly upright, almost sitting in Ronan’s lap. Ronan blinked up at him. Adam made a face. Ronan had to pull him down to kiss him.

“You don’t have to ask,” Ronan said. Adam ran a fingertip very carefully around the outside shell of Ronan’s ear, and then bent to bite at Ronan’s earlobe. Ronan shivered.

“I know,” Adam said, quietly, and Ronan sighed. Adam pressed a kiss just under Ronan’s ear.

“Sure,” Ronan said. “Yeah. You can try something,” and then Adam was climbing off him and nudging Ronan onto his stomach. Ronan rolled easily enough, folded his arms in front of his face and rested his chin on his forearms.

Adam nudged at Ronan’s hips and tried to slide his pillow under Ronan’s lower stomach. Ronan let him, but it didn’t really provide a lot of lift. It was a shitty pillow. Adam huffed.

Ronan looked over his shoulder. He could feel his pulse beating slow between his legs, thumping in his brain. Adam had grabbed lube from the bedside table while he was fucking around with the pillow. Ronan knew what was coming.

&&&&

Ronan was wrong. Adam hadn’t gotten lube over his fingers and gone straight to it. Instead, he’d left the lube resting on the bed next to Ronan’s thighs and pushed Ronan’s knees apart.

He bent to kiss the base of Ronan’s spine before looking up at him, lips parted and eyebrows raised. Adam’s hand was spread out over Ronan’s ass. His fingers looked long, almost spidery. Ronan refused to shiver, but he could feel goosebumps prickling up over his skull.

“Yeah?” Adam said, and Ronan bit his lip. He looked away, pushed his face into the sheets under his bent arms and arched his hips up.

Sure. Yeah.

Adam laughed, let out a little chuckle. Ronan shut his eyes. Adam bit the curve of Ronan’s ass, dug his teeth in and squeezed Ronan’s other cheek with his hand and Ronan hated him, hated this, could feel his calves clench and toes curl and a blush spilling over his face and down his throat.

“Parrish,” Ronan said, muffled but loud enough Adam should be able to hear it.

“Jesus,” Adam said. “I’m getting to it.” It hadn’t occurred to Ronan that Adam might be nervous, too.

But then Adam was pressing his mouth against Ronan’s asshole, kissing at it. It was mostly lips, at first, and Ronan heaved in a couple huge breaths and breathed out as slowly as he could, tried not to freak out or get weird about this, tried to get used to the sensation. He clenched his hands into fists.

And then suddenly Adam’s tongue was licking over him, almost out of nowhere, broad flat licks. Maybe Adam had remembered that Ronan didn’t like tentative. Either way, this was working better — it felt _weird_ , and dirty, but it didn’t feel like Adam was forcing himself to do this because he thought he was supposed to, or because he thought it was what Ronan wanted.

“Christ,” Ronan said, thinly. Adam didn’t stop. Ronan ground his forehead into the sheets, into his forearms and wrists.

It wasn’t particularly complicated. The other way — Adam eating his pussy — that hadn’t been complicated either once it got good, just sloppy sucking and Adam unashamed and enthusiastic. But this was just _licking_ , Adam smoothing his tongue over Ronan’s asshole and Ronan trying not to worry too much about it.

It was easy for Ronan to fall into his body. To stop thinking. Adam kept licking over him, his hands on Ronan, his spit, his mouth, which hadn’t really been a particular object of worship for Ronan, beyond the fact that it was Adam’s.

Ronan pictured what they must look like, Ronan on his stomach in Adam’s bed, both of them naked, Adam’s face and Adam’s pink tongue peeking out, and shivered so hard he was nearly trembling, held himself still through it until he was something beyond tense, almost floating. Adam’s tongue was firm against him, pressing down over him like a question. Ronan didn’t know what was missing; his whole body felt bubbly, like he was fizzing apart at the edges.

Adam pressed a kiss against Ronan’s asshole, absurdly sweet, and Ronan felt like his whole body was flexing, tensing and releasing. He wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted. More, probably.

“Relax,” Adam said, and Ronan was about to tell Adam where he could stick his relax, but then he heard the cap of the lube snick open and Ronan forgot everything.

“Fuck,” Ronan said, thickly. “Fuck, oh my God,” and then he lost track of what he was saying because Adam was rubbing his cold fingers against Ronan’s asshole, slick and in counterpoint to Adam’s tongue.

And then something shifted, somehow, he wasn’t even sure how or what himself, but then Adam’s finger pushed in, like Ronan’s body had just been waiting to open up for Adam. Ronan swore, and pressed back against Adam’s finger. He struggled to free his arms and reached a hand back to tangle it in Adam’s hair.

Adam was pulling back, maybe-probably to ask if this was okay, and Ronan was going to die if Adam stopped; he pulled at Adam’s hair and brought his mouth back against Adam’s own hand. Adam laughed, and moaned a little, and went back at it, pushing his finger in carefully and licking around where Ronan was opening up for him, unfurling. Ronan pulled Adam’s hair again, and whined. He was arching into Adam’s mouth so hard he could feel the stretch in the small fine muscles in his low back. Ronan bit down on the inside of his lip, furious and trembling and simultaneously empty and full.

“More,” Ronan said, and Adam pushed his finger in a little further and pulled it back out, and Ronan thought he was going to try and argue but instead Adam kind of — maybe pointed his tongue or something but it was very nearly _inside_ Ronan and while Ronan was distracted by that and scrambling to keep Adam’s mouth against him so he could keep doing that and also scrambling up so he could get his knees up under himself, Ronan must have been pulling Adam’s head up by the hair but Adam went with him, easily.

Adam dropped the lube on the bed, or he must have, because then his second sticky hand was on Ronan’s hip holding his ass still and he was really licking at Ronan, pushing his tongue just barely in and then over Ronan again just licking him, and Ronan was pulling his hair and swearing resolutely into the pillow, saying all kinds of embarrassing shit and hoping Adam was too distracted by the noises he was making to hear it, or understand it. It was all stuff Adam knew, anyway; that didn’t mean Ronan wanted to get caught saying it.

“Come on, Parrish,” Ronan said, finally, and Adam pulled his mouth away from Ronan just long enough to say, “Get yourself off,” and then his fingers were back, two of them this time and it was a stretch but Ronan could take it, flexing the arches of his feet and then relaxing intentionally. Adam licked where he was spreading Ronan open, scissored his fingers and twisted them, and he’d clearly been doing his fucking research, fucking _Parrish_ , because Ronan knew he hadn’t done this before but he knew what he was doing, he was incredible, it was the best thing Ronan had ever felt.

Adam pinched Ronan’s thigh with his other hand. “Get yourself _off_ ,” he said, again, and Ronan pulled at his hair to get Adam to keep licking him and Adam just got more lube onto his fingers and tried for three and it hurt a little, too much stretch too fast no matter how careful Adam was being to hold them close together, and Ronan yelped but finally got his arm underneath himself.

He tried not to feel ridiculous, with his shoulders in the mattress and his ass in the air, but he managed to get a hand against his clit anyway. He didn’t think he’d be able to get off like this but Adam’s mouth and fingers were driving him to the edge anyway, the sharp edge of strain making a sweat break out all over his body and Adam was fucking him, then, barely licking at all and just twisting and pistoning his fingers in and out.

The pressure against Ronan’s dick wouldn’t have been enough under normal circumstances but Ronan managed to almost pinch it, rub it between his fingers and his thumb and he could feel the tension building in his empty cunt, the fullness in his ass, the fact that Adam wanted to do this for him.

That time when Ronan came it caught him by surprise. His orgasm was unavoidable and full-bodied; shocking, like a strike to the chest. It left him winded.

Ronan shuddered and gasped and clenched on Adam’s fingers and felt like he was pulling Adam’s hair so hard some would come away in his fist. Adam licked him through it, around his fingers, moaning and rubbing the flat of his other palm up and down Ronan’s corded thigh until he relaxed enough to come down.

Ronan swore, exhausted, when his muscles stopped misfiring and lights stopped flashing behind his eyes. He managed to unclench his hand from Adam’s hair, even though it was stiff and didn’t want to move. It flopped to the mattress. He felt overfull, like he could feel Adam’s fingers in his throat.

“God,” Adam said, then, softly, and kissed Ronan’s tailbone. He was carefully working his fingers out of Ronan’s asshole. Ronan winced, and pushed at Adam’s wrist until they came out all in one go. Gross. Adam wiped them off on the sheets.

Ronan flopped onto his back. He couldn't move. His limbs weren't jelly, they were cement.

“Shit, Parrish,” he said as Adam curled into the narrow space around the edges of the mattress Ronan had considerately left for him. “You can try that anytime.”

Ronan could feel Adam smile.

&&&&

“You wanna go for a drive?” Ronan said, some time later. Adam made a sleepy noise into Ronan’s shoulder, and shook his head, or maybe just rubbed his face into Ronan’s skin. Adam had a hard, dark scab on the back of his elbow; Ronan was contentedly worrying at it, peeling up the edges. Adam rubbed his freezing feet over Ronan’s ankles.

Ronan said, “Seriously, Parrish, I’m not fucking sleeping here.” Adam snickered, and then bit back a helpless giggles. He thumped a hand against Ronan’s chest.

“Your bed’s fucking wrecked,” Ronan said, perhaps a little grouchily. Adam rubbed his hand against Ronan’s sternum. "I think I ripped the sheets."

“Yeah,” Adam said, lazily, and bit Ronan’s shoulder. It was more of a kiss than a bite.

Ronan shifted. Adam said, “God, fine,” and arched up to grab Ronan’s phone off the nightstand. He slid the keyboard out and settled back against Ronan’s side.

 _we’re coming over_ , he sent Gansey. Good idea, Ronan thought. At least Ronan’s bed at Monmouth had decent sheets on it, but then Adam also sent: _get dressed!!_

“Get dressed?” Ronan asked, horrified, but Adam was already hopping out of bed, and wiping himself down in the sink with a paper towel. “I thought they were like —”

Adam said, “Get fucking dressed,” from the bathroom. He was brushing his teeth. Ronan followed him in and used Adam’s damp paper towel to wipe the nasty mess off his stomach.

“Worth it,” Ronan said, and leered at him. Adam rolled his eyes and kissed Ronan’s temple.

&&&&

They pottered into the lot in a tangle of elbows and knees, jostling each other down the stairs. No one else was still at church. A few straggling cars had been left in the lot when they’d arrived at St. Agnes, but the office ladies must have left and the Father had moved his LeBaron around to the rectory. It was just them. Ronan pushed Adam up against the BMW and kissed him under the stars, under the statue of the Holy Virgin.

Adam kissed him back, gentle, or at least slow.

Slow. Not gentle.

He worked another hickey into the skin under Ronan’s jaw, teeth sharp against the soft skin. Ronan tilted his head back and gasped. Ronan’s hands were on the back of Adam’s neck, his soft t-shirt.

Adam moved down Ronan’s neck, leaving more marks. Easily, without much urgency. Just because he wanted to. He nosed over Ronan’s Adam’s apple, at the dip between his collarbones.

“Hey,” Ronan said, finally, and Adam turned his face back up to kiss Ronan’s mouth, his lips, just wet and soft.

“Alright,” Adam said, and stuck his hand into Ronan’s pocket to get his keys out. Ronan went breathless. Adam clicked them, and the BMW beeped, headlights flashing.

“Alright,” Ronan echoed back.

Adam grinned, and said, “Bet Gansey and Blue are—” and Ronan howled outrage and shoved at his hands, grabbing his keys back and laughing and laughing, until they were pulling out of the lot, Adam’s hand on Ronan’s knee and the road stretched out before them.

* * *

my door is always open   
if you find you wanna talk  
and when you're good and ready  
we can go as deep as you want

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to literally everyone who held my hand through baby’s first pynch fic. extra and especially thanks to izzy pistolheart, you know what you did, & also for beta. any remaining errors are "stylistic choices" and my own fault. also thanks 2 other proof-readers who told me over and over that this was worth posting: burn-it-slow, @galdramani on tumblr, & vharmons for adam parrish sensitivity reading. 
> 
> title from rilo kiley's _hail to whatever you found in the sunlight that surrounds you_.  
>  end tag from lake street dive's _just ask_. 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://spikenards.tumblr.com). if you enjoyed this fic, feel free to [reblog](http://spikenards.tumblr.com/post/160595003734/) it!


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